


Keep You Like An Oath

by abrandnewboom



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Malagosto Island, SCORPIA Member Alex Rider, Scorpia (Alex Rider), Slow Burn, Yassen Gregorovich Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewboom/pseuds/abrandnewboom
Summary: After washing out of the special forces, nineteen year old Alex Rider receives news he can't help but want to believe. Yassen Gregorovich is alive - and he wants Alex to join him on Malagosto Island.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 115
Kudos: 177





	1. McMuffin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capeofstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeofstorm/gifts).



> This is entirely self indulgent. I wrote the bulk of this work in 2012, but it holds up surprisingly well! Enjoy, and let me know if you catch any errors I've missed. 
> 
> Updating whenever possible!

The first weeks in the SAS were rough on Alex. His body had struggled to remember the precise actions from the half forgotten karate lessons of his childhood, and the other recruits swiftly split away into their own groups. But he'd caught up soon enough.

The real trouble was that Alex didn’t cry for his home at night, and he didn’t comfort his team mates either. He couldn’t help it, he’d lost touch with his age group long ago, and these wet-behind-the-ears pups quickly grew to despise him as much as he ignored them. 

He rose up the ranks quickly, as his muscle memory subbed in the kicks and strikes that had saved him from mercenaries so many times. His weapons clearance jumped only slightly slower. SCORPIA’s munitions drills still stood fresh in his mind, but the weaponry the SAS handed him day after day was substandard when compared to the firepower that the assassins’ training island had granted him.

Alex slept in the same bunks as his age mates, ate at the same table, shared the same sparring ring, but he wasn’t in their head space. As soon as they’d learnt he hadn’t had to prove himself prior to entering training, hadn’t attended an appropriate military school, wasn’t even old enough to have gained university entrance, they’d shunned him. They weren’t stupid, Alex could concede that much. They knew there was something off about having a kid among them – but he still surpassed them all at every challenge.

Successful as he was from training through to fully fledged SAS operations, he was still set apart from the others, and not in a good way. Finally, after three years of solid training he had been assigned a unit of his own, D Unit, a group that should have gelled with him the same way he’d seen K Unit operate. 

A week before their first deployment he was pulled from the operation.

His commanding officer called him in, square jawed and straight faced, as if he had to pull servicemen out of jobs all the time because their faces were all too recognisable.

It seemed as if Alex’s past was never going to stop coming back to bite him in the arse.

Since then he became a loose cog in the system, filling up quota in Afghanistan, Iraq, innumerable African nations. S Unit’s navigator near caught her death of pneumonia on a Black Sea mission, Q Unit’s sniper specialist sprained his ankle on the cobblestones in Bavaria, J Unit’s explosives master was throwing tantrums again – Alex was up for it.

It was the loneliness that got to him in the end. It was obvious to Alex that the SAS, as a whole, didn’t want him around. An MI6 convert who had already compromised his identity to a whole slew of enemies? Alex was a liability, at the very least.

And that was why, in the end, Alex had stopped taking their halfhearted calls for cover work. He was nineteen, he was lonely, and it really sucked being the odd one out in the only organisation he’d ever thought would adopt him as their own. 

Not that mooching around his apartment for weeks on end was any more fulfilling an occupation. The highlights of his week were trips to Aldi for the latest in protein bars, wiping out entire squadrons of n00bs on Call of Duty - and jerking off to embarrassingly fleeting memories of a killer he can’t decide whether to hate.

+++

Alex thought of Yassen's long fingers and moaned under his breath. He grazed his hand down his cock again, quickly now, gripping only loosely with each pull. Yassen would treat him this way, roughly get him off as he took his own pleasure from Alex's body.

Alex twitched at the thought, sucking in a ragged breath and leaving his swollen cock, as painful as it was. Instead, he closed his eyes, carefully reaching between his legs. His own precome and sweat had since trickled and gathered there, warm and liquid under the heavy covers.

He opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling, fingers calmly searching, pressing upwards, inwards. In the hazy press of black night, Alex conjured up images that filled the blank darkness before him. 

An assassin with cool eyes and forceful hips. A man who would take him briskly with cruel hard thrusts, but once finished with him would wordlessly ensure he was alright. Touch his face with large but careful hands; check his choking sobs hadn’t meant tears – just jagged pleasure.

He came against his coarse sheets, simultaneously relieved and annoyed.

When he’d sold the house in Chelsea MI6 had destroyed everything he hadn’t been able to cram into his tiny flat. After years of Jack handling everything in the house Alex had forgotten that beds needed sheets, so he’d had to buy the first ones he saw in Tescoes. They were horrible, they’d run their colour in the wash, and they were new enough to scratch him whenever he got around to sleeping in his bed.

Alex would rather think about his sheets than the fact that he fantasised nigh on every night about fucking a dead assassin.

Even if both topics were pretty much equally as sad as each other.

+++

The first thing Alex noticed when he stepped out of his flat at nine the following morning was that he was being watched. It wasn’t exactly a new experience for him, but it was an irksome one, especially when what he wanted most at the moment was bacon and egg McMuffin, stat.

Prickle of a telescopic lens be damned, he darted into the stream of foot traffic and zig-zagged a path to the McDonalds around the corner. This was what he loved about London. Crowds and convenience. There was nothing more helpful in a spy’s life than those two perks. Not that Alex was a spy any longer. But these things lingered in the back of his mind, much like the enemies he’d made years before seemed to enjoy hanging about in the backdrop of his life.

McMuffin in hand, Alex dumped the greasy wrappings in the trash on his way out of the outlet, silently thankful that whoever it was stalking him had at least the generosity not to mow him down in a fast food store. There was just something so depressing about that kind of ignoble death. If he had to die, Alex would rather not eat in a McDonalds. Embarrassing.

Naturally, as if to spite his successful escape from an embarrassing demise, someone plucked the half-eaten muffin out of his hands and jerked him into an inconspicuous courier van parked not two feet away from the store’s entry.

Alex swore and shook off his faux-courier’s grip as the door slid shut, and the vehicle purred into gear. Alex kicked out at one of the pieces of mail that littered the floor of the van in frustration.

“So sorry, but you should know that saturated fat is terribly bad for you, Mr. Rider.”

Alex frowned and wiped his hands on his jeans. His first extended break from both MI6 and SAS training and regulations in what felt like years, and people were still keeping him from making his own choices. Perhaps it was just that Alex had woken up on the wrong side of his lumpy bed this morning, but honestly. It had to be a Monday. 

He eyed up today’s kidnapping vehicle of choice.

“You’re just about as bad as MI6.” Alex said, waving a hand around them at the metal confines of the van.

His host was a friendly looking woman with a brown ponytail. She was slight, fit and pleasantly plain. She smiled tightly at him, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m sure my proposition will be much more tempting than any that they’ve offered you.”

Alex narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Who are you? I assumed SCORPIA when you manhandled me into your van, but they’re usually more partial to shooting me dead on sight.”

“My name is Ms. Gunn.” 

“…Funny.”

Ms. Gunn smiled and held out her hand to be shaken. Alex, re-living memories of expertly concealed darts, poisons, and small scale artillery, declined it politely. She looked like she understood.

“You are absolutely correct, Mr. Rider. We are SCORPIA, but not as you have ever known it.”

Ms. Gunn leaned forward eagerly on her bench seat, as if about to launch into a terribly exciting piece of gossip. “You see, Mr. Rider-”

“Alex is fine.”

She nodded and went on. “You see – Alex – over the last couple of years, SCORPIA has undergone a massive structural overhaul. Many of its founders and executives have passed away. In a few cases, this has been thanks to you, Alex.”

Alex nodded shortly in confirmation of that fact, not all too fond of the memories. He was unconvinced. What exactly was this woman trying to tell him? Was she trying to sell SCORPIA as some sort of corporation which had seen the light and decided to go legit?

“In short, Alex, SCORPIA has acquired a new board of directors who are much more sympathetic to your interests. You may have noticed that the attempts to kill you have dropped off a little over the past two years?”

Alex had to admit that she was right. He supposed he’d been embroiled in his pity party for far too long to notice anything outside of his little rebellion against MI6, or his subsequent SAS training regime. 

“Why would SCORPIA care about me, new board or not? And why contact me now?” Alex said, his calm voice hiding none of his suspicion.

Ms. Gunn smiled again. “Mr. Gregorovich warned me that you’d be reluctant, but he was adamant about re-recruiting you.”

Alex did a double take. 

“Yassen Gregorovich?” he said, incredulous. “Did you just say Yassen Gregorovich?”

Ms. Gunn produced a smartphone from her pocket, and poised her fingers over the screen. “Shall I take that as a yes, then?” she enquired, voice melodious with unspoken laughter.

“Yes to what?” Alex demanded, still reeling.

“Yes to returning to your place at SCORPIA’s Training and Assessment Centre. Mr. Gregorovich now presides over it, as part of his duty as a SCORPIA executive.”

Alex’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he searched for a response. The whole business simply sounded unbelievable.

“He - he doesn’t just intend to lure me back to Venice to kill me, does he?”

It was unlikely, and incongruent with their last parting, but this was SCORPIA he was considering. The only people who’d lied to him more than SCORPIA had been…well, MI6, actually.

“Oh, Alex,” Ms. Gunn abandoned her phone to her lap, and barely managed to keep herself from hugging the boy. Instead she knitted her fingers together and looked intently into Alex’s face. 

“Trust me, Alex. As someone who owes her life to the new board of executives, I may be somewhat biased, but you should know that I am Mr. Gregorovich’s secretary. I schedule most of his life. I take my orders from him personally. Believe me when I tell you; Yassen has no ill intentions toward you whatsoever.”

Alex sat back, mollified by her outburst. He’d met a lot of good actors on missions. Thoughts of Ash particularly rankled him some days. Yet, Alex couldn’t help but believe Ms. Gunn and her impassioned words. 

It helped that he found he wanted to believe her. He wanted to go back to Malagosto. If he was truly frank with himself – Malagosto had been the setting for the vast majority of his happy experiences over the last five years. 

What were the alternatives? Turn them down and beg to rejoin D Unit, sleeping, eating and slaving away amongst the angriest sons of England? Perhaps his taste for spying had not been sated. He could crawl back to MI6, and find himself shipped back to Bangkok at a moment’s notice, to die among the cockroaches this time.

Or he could run away to SCORPIA once more, where, according to Ms. Gunn, his old enemies were more than willing to welcome him back with open arms, bathe him in the appreciation he had so enjoyed, pay him a generous wage, train him under the world’s best tutors and introduce him to the most challenging and respectful of peers. 

All of this, somehow, under the guiding hand of Yassen Gregorovich, miraculous survivor, and Alex’s occasional real life guardian angel.

It was like the sleepy machinations of his dreaming mind had leapt to life. The answer was all too obvious.

Over the years, MI6, the SAS, various intelligence agencies of the globe, not to mention a plethora of men and women hell bent on destruction, had agreed on one front – Alex wasn’t too young to die. He wasn’t too young to be blackmailed, manipulated, abused, kidnapped, beaten, tortured, burnt, drowned, poisoned or shot dead.

Alex had come to terms with this world some time ago, and found that the only way to survive was to ensure that MI6 could not take the best of him. To cup a flame of resilience and resentment and feed it, blow life into it, and never let it go out. There was still something left of Alex Rider, and finally, finally, he would choose how to mould it.

“When do we leave, Ms. Gunn?”


	2. Pass or Fail Grade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has a few questions before class reconvenes - not that the answers really matter to him.

The helicopter touched down on Malagosto Island gently, just as Yassen had years before, in London. Alex attributed the fact to the adept pilot, a grizzled man with a disarmingly broad gummy grin.

The old man had grinned broadly at him upon boarding, lifting his eyebrows in a friendly manner. Alex couldn’t help but crack a smile. It had been a long time since people had immediately treated him with kindness upon first meeting. With the SAS, you were somewhat more likely to be shouted or shot at first off, whereas with MI6, new acquaintences favoured torture. 

Ms. Gunn was gripping the handholds either side of her so tightly that her hands were a livid white. She had seemed perturbed for the entirety of the flight, and scrambled to leave the cockpit as soon as the pilot gave her an indulgent nod. Alex wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d gotten down and kissed the soft grass of the helipad enclosure they’d landed within.

However, once on solid land again, she was back to her smiling self. They waved goodbye to the pilot, if a little stiffly on Alex’s part. He didn’t quite know what to make of SCORPIA's snap decision to abandon assassinating him and start making friends all over again. 

“This way, Alex. You have to see Mr. Gregorovich. You know the way, you’ve attended the school before, haven’t you – it’s the same head office with the books.”

Ms. Gunn chattered on as she led the way, reminding him of the basic layout of the buildings, pointing down the passages to where Alex faintly remembered visiting the infirmary, the training and teaching rooms, the temporary staff offices for visiting SCORPIA members.

“You’ll have your old quarters, if you don’t mind,” she said, looking back at Alex to gauge his reaction. He nodded, and she smiled again. “Good, that saves moving everything around. With everyone shifting into different quarters this semester - frankly, it’s a nightmare.”

“Uh huh.” Alex wasn’t sure why Ms. Gunn was talking to him like an old friend, but he wasn’t about to discourage her. 

Ever since he’d agreed to listen to Yassen Gregorovich’s proposition she’d been exuberantly happy. In anyone else it would have been irritating, but in her, a ostensibly earnest young secretary who packed a couple of guns in addition to a constantly chirping smartphone – it was just amusing. 

It was a little bit like having Jack back - a Jack with criminal connections, and probably extensive SCORPIA training.

Eventually they passed through the refectory - the cherubs on the ceiling no more faded than the last time he’d visited – and got to the familiar door to what Alex recognised as Oliver d’Arc’s former office.

Alex breathed in deeply as Ms. Gunn reached for the doorknob. She heard him and shot him an encouraging look.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “He’s just as nervous about seeing you. He’s been planning this for months, and fretting the whole time, I could tell.”

+++

Behind the door, Yassen Gregorovich rolled his eyes and cleared his desk. Despite all the talents Ms. Gunn possessed, the old board’s recommendation to eliminate her after she’d failed the training course wasn’t without merit. She was a potential liability.

Fortunately for Ms. Gunn, Yassen was still on a low homicide diet, so he simply counted to ten slowly to rid himself of the urge to make scathing comments at his slowly opening door.

Ms. Gunn peeked in and grinned at him broadly before swinging the door open to display her find – Alex. 

A little taller, infinitely more handsome, if it wasn’t just an effect caused by his starved eyes – but Alex’s own eyes were a thousand times sadder than they’d been at age fourteen. His hair had evidently been shorn off at some point, probably at the demand of the SAS. It had grown back a shade darker, just long enough now to cover his eyes with head bent. 

Alex looked physically downtrodden, whether that was due to hardline SAS training tactics, or years of MI6 exploitation, Yassen could only guess. He took him in nonetheless, drinking in every inch, unable to stop the curve of his lips. He hadn’t been sure he knew what he was getting into when he’d requisitioned command of the Malagosto facility, but the moment Alex stepped into his office, the place had become home. Everything was falling into place, finally.

As Yassen stood up, Alex stepped back reflexively. He was still taller than the young ex-spy, despite the years and the small growth spurt that Alex had managed in between frequent incidences of captivity, starvation and torture under the oversight of MI6 and then exhausting, backbreaking field training with the SAS. Perhaps he could have been taller in another life, but as it was, he’d barely made it to 175 centimetres.

They all stood awkwardly for a moment, Alex seemingly primed to turn tail and run at a moment’s notice, Ms. Gunn’s forehead wrinkling in frustration at their unwillingness to immediately become best chums, and Yassen’s own cool façade freezing the room solid. 

“Welcome back.” Yassen said, finally. 

Alex visibly winced, fixing his eyes on his feet.

Ms. Gunn worried at her lower lip. She waited a couple of beats in silence before fleeing in search of refreshments.

Alex looked up as she brushed past him apologetically. Yassen had seated himself on the edge of his desk, arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. It was disconcerting how he’d immediately lost every scrap of authority he’d ever managed to pick up in the SAS in this particular man’s presence. 

Even with years of experience at throwing snide remarks at dangerous individuals, and a long professional stint of having the shit kicked out of him for the same indomitable defiance in the SAS – one measuring assessment from Yassen Gregorovich had him cowed and obedient.

He could feel Yassen’s eyes on him. Studying him from head to foot, raking over every inch of skin. As if he was memorising him. 

Alex shivered a little, and rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to meet Yassen’s intense eyes.

Yassen had him withstand the gaze until Alex broke it, opting to examine his shoes again.

“No one here will hurt you,” he said eventually.

Alex’s mouth twisted a little at that, eyes still downcast. “Where have I heard that one before?”

“No one,” Yassen repeated. “I have near exclusive control over this organisation’s decisions. You will return to your former quarters and return to classes tomorrow. If you are in need of anything you are to come to myself or Ms. Gunn.”

Alex nodded silently. This was all very déjà vu. He felt like he might wake up from this dream world at any moment.

“How old are you now, Alex?” 

Yassen didn’t have to ask, he had Alex’s files open on his laptop.

“Nineteen.” Alex answered, curious enough to be amicable about it.

“If it is agreeable to you, we’d like it if you stayed with us longer than the usual three month training period” Yassen said.

“Why? What kind of training?” Alex finally grasped at the questions he desperately needed answered. “What does SCORPIA want from me this time? That woman – Ms. Gunn,” he corrected himself, “she told me that you’d explain everything.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of two years.” Yassen let that sink in. “Or longer, if you like. You should be confident in your skills before leaving.”

“You want me to learn to kill.” Alex guessed bleakly, with the certainty of someone well out of their teens.

“No.” Yassen stood up, springing slowly off the desk with the grace of a cat. “No. We will not make you do anything you do not want to do.” Yassen hesitated before covering the distance between the desk and Alex’s place in the doorway.

Alex stood his ground against the doorframe, even as Yassen stepped into his personal space.

“SCORPIA wants you, Alex, because I-” Yassen paused for a moment. His voice had begun to dip into his old East European accent. 

He started once more, studying Alex’s face carefully as he spoke quite earnestly: “I am responsible for a great portion of SCORPIA now. Malagosto is my business now. I pick out potential recruits. I pick the best. And I picked you, Alex, because I know you can be the best. If not at elimination, then any number of advanced and necessary fields - organisation, technology, infiltration. We especially hope to become more prominent in the field of intelligence.”

“You want me because I can spy? I’m not quite as undetectable anymore.” Alex gestured at his older face sarcastically, jutting his chin out at Yassen.

“You are invaluable to me, no matter your age.”

Alex flinched, subtly. He pulled back, speaking so quietly now it seemed he was talking only to himself. “I don’t understand.”

Yassen returned to his place behind the desk and let Alex regain some control. He’d spooked the boy enough for one day. He saw nothing wrong with giving him some reasonable answers for once in his life.

“You didn’t find a home in the English special forces, did you Alex?” Yassen laid his scarred hands on the desktop, palms flat against the varnished wood, as if laying out all his cards for Alex’s perusal. 

“You were handed a life sentence from the very beginning, Alex. Your parent’s deaths, your uncle’s deception, MI6’s betrayal. The SAS. They took away the childhood that all your peers received. You don’t fit. You never fit. You never will.”

He waved a hand, indicating to the compound. “You were not meant for the ordinary, Alex. Some of us are not. We don’t fit in the ordinary world.”

Alex opened his mouth at that, but Yassen shook his head minutely. For some reason, some instinctual deference, Alex stepped down and let the assassin go on.

“From what I hear, you liked this place.” Yassen said, intent on Alex’s silent form, still closed off, as close to the door as he could press.

“I admit I am...fond of you, Alex. You will be happy here, for as long as you see fit to stay. The new board will see any of your concerns are taken care of.”

Alex’s face twisted. “You _are_ the new board, aren’t you?”

Yassen shrugged. “I am no more than forty percent of its guiding influence at any one time.”

“That must keep your secretary busy.”

“Ms. Gunn is extraordinarily talented when it comes to administration and advanced use of intelligence. She oversees almost every operation I put into practice. The old board did not appreciate her talents.”

Alex grinned briefly. “Did she fail assassination class too?”

Yassen’s lips twitched. He nodded shortly. “Pass or fail did not suit her preferred learning style any better than it did yours.”

“Ms. Gunn failed her Malagosto classes?” Alex would have laughed if the thought wasn’t a little too close for comfort. Alex had been lucky to survive walking out on SCORPIA. He couldn’t imagine chirpy Ms. Gunn running for her life.

“SCORPIA has always been fixated on their image.” Yassen shrugged. “They’d rather kill their darlings than let them learn. As you can imagine, I wasn’t their favourite son.”

Alex smiled, thinking of the missions he’d spoiled for the assassin.

“Seeing as they’re dead now,” Yassen continued. “Our failed candidates simply suffer a small loss of revenue. We will not recommend or employ them.”

“Just like an ordinary school,” Alex said.

“Oh no, Alex. We’re anything but ordinary.”

Alex snorted. “So, you aren’t going to kill me, or manipulate me into killing school children?”

“You’ll just have to trust me, Alex.” Yassen said. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Alex swallowed slowly and shook his head, freshly out of reasonable objections. 

Yassen barely heard the whispered words that made everything worth it as Alex shuffled his feet and turned to let himself out of the office. 

“Thank you...”


	3. Going Dutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes friends at school - not that he gets a choice about it.

Alex’s quarters seemed nearly untouched since his last stay. Perhaps it was because he’d been a special guest and the suite he’d stayed in wasn’t usually inhabited. More likely: other professional trainees since then had come and gone like ghosts, careful to leave no trace.

Some of the facilities he could see must have been subtly upgraded: the bathroom and electronic fittings were impeccably modern - not a 30 pin charger in sight.

He’d been supplied with a PlayStation 4, an awful rotating smart television that could display landscape or portrait orientated content, a full tea service in the kitchenette with more high calorie snacks than he was quite comfortable having in his vicinity, and the linen made up a small fortune in silk, wool and fine cotton.

As before, Alex had the distinct impression it was all a bit of a display. Alex wouldn’t be spending long periods in these quarters when there were so many learning opportunities in the grounds.

The mess wasn’t crowded in the least. 

Closest to the door sat two extraordinarily fit men, one Chinese, the other Caucasian. Both sported matching dark hair and beards and they were tucking into twin plates of heaped scrambled egg. They were dressed identically in comfortable looking beige linen shirts and dark slacks.

The two men continued eating in companionable silence and didn’t lift as much as an eyebrow as Alex passed them on the way to the serving hatch. 

The rest of the room was dotted with solitary eaters of various ages and backgrounds. 

The tallest woman Alex had ever seen stood up and carried her plate up to the hatch at the same time Alex reached it.

“New?” she asked him in a thick Middle Eastern accent.

“Sort of,” Alex admitted. He stepped aside politely and gestured for her to go ahead and take her seconds.

She smiled and ladled out a heaped serving on her plate and a clean one she slid over to Alex. 

“Come,” she said, and Alex found it difficult not to obey. 

He picked up some cutlery and followed her to a scrubbed wooden table, waiting for her to arrange her place before taking his own seat opposite.

“What is your name? They call me Talon.” 

Alex nodded in understanding as she lifted her fork to her mouth. 

Her nails were long, strong and beautifully shaped to sharp stiletto points. They were painted a flattering deep forest green that looked especially sophisticated against her brown skin.

“I’m Alex,” he said simply, which made her smile. 

“How nice to meet you, Alex,” she said. “You have lovely manners.”

“You have lovely nails.” Alex returned the compliment, making her smile again.

“Will you be joining us this morning for counterfeiting?” she asked, barely waiting for him to nod in agreement. “I’ll catch you up.”

It turned out that Talon was desperate for a study partner. 

Counterfeiting was child’s play for her to explain to Alex, but once they sat down in class with sheets of high quality paper and ink it became evident to Alex that she could not read or write in English nor any of the other languages their example denominations were printed in.

“Shall I do the lettering for both of us, Talon, while you look after the foil and the colour wash?” Alex suggested diplomatically. “I’m not a great artist and you’re probably steadier with the foil scalpel.”

Talon eyed him for a moment but nodded, clearly relieved, as she stood to gather the art supplies. 

Alex made quick work of the lettering and tiny even digits of the serial numbers on both their sheets. He’d always had excellent penmanship. He’d won awards for it in comprehensive school. Uncle Ian had found it very amusing at prizegiving.

Talon seemed very pleased with Alex’s work when she returned. She got started on fashioning the foil seals. Her speed and skill with the scalpel made Alex a little queasy if he watched too long, to be honest.

Their finished cash was amateurish even to Alex’s inexpert eye but they were finished well before anyone else. It might have been vain but Alex rather thought he’d might be able to pass them off easily if they were tucked into a bundle alongside a few authentic cousins.

Their tutor was a spry old French gentleman with thick coke bottle glasses which seemed to double as magnifying glasses. He’d chuckled as he told Alex that he went by the name Goldbarr. Then, still giggling, he assured him that he was well worth his weight.

M. Goldbarr trotted over to Talon and Alex as soon as they were finished. He gave their work a thorough appraisal through his spectacles.

“Very fine work for beginners,” he said eventually. “Most importantly, quick! The more you make, the easier it is to circulate. Then you’re away!” He chuckled to himself. “Yes, very nice.” 

He shamelessly pocketed one of the bills. 

“Excellent penmanship, nearly factory perfect foil work. You two could make a mint working together if you don’t mind a little elbow grease.”

Talon proudly unfolded herself to her full height once M. Goldbarr dismissed them, gracing Alex with another warm smile. “You are a wonderful partner, Alex! I will have to guard you fiercely.”

Alex shrugged off the praise. “You did the hard parts,” he pointed out. “Here. Get yourself something nice.”

He offered Talon the fistful of counterfeits their tutor hadn’t filched. 

“Let us go Dutch,” Talon said, selecting a few choice notes. “Now we must test them in the commissary.”

Alex grinned. There was no way a store in a criminal compound would fall for counterfeit currency - but it would be well worth the laugh.

+++

Malagosto expected students to take charge when it came to their own health and fitness, unlike the military or SAS. As such, exercise regimes, gym routines and diet (or lack of any of the former) were entirely up to the individual.

Alex favoured running. Whether this was something ironic in Alex’s psyche or simply a practical instinct that complimented his near constant state of being, who was to say. 

All Alex knew for sure was that it felt good to run away. Even when it was nothing more than a facsimile of escape.

Running at Malagosto was pleasant enough. He could loop the island if he had the time spare at the end of the day. 

There were natural limits, of course. The cliffs, the sandy stretches of seaside, stony bays, and then, not so naturally, fenced off portions of the coast. 

Alex had no reason to snoop right now, but old habits die hard. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious as to what SCORPIA was doing on the island now besides running their profitable little school. He repressed the urge and filed the questions away for later. 

There was a well beaten path through most of the wilder brush which threaded between the sand dunes. Clearly other Malagosto residents ran or walked the coast as well. Alex slowed to a jog as he moved through the dunes. The sands still shifted underfoot despite the well packed path, and he’d been wondering whether birds nested in the dunes. Alex couldn’t recall seeing animals on the island. It might simply be a symptom of SCORPIA’s long-time occupation of the land. 

He nearly went flying as he came around a dune and nearly ran down a crouched figure concealed in the bend of the path. 

It was just as well Alex had slowed down - he could have struck the man quite hard if he’d been running at full speed.

As it was, Alex pinwheeled a few metres down the path before he skittered to a stop. He swung around, breathing hard. “What are you playing at?” he called out.

The man had fallen onto his backside in surprise. He lifted his hands in peaceful greeting. “Sorry! I was completely distracted.”

Alex caught his breath and approached without fear, recognising the man from the mess hall. 

“Distracted with what? Building sand castles?”

The man huffed out a quick laugh. “No - it’s tussocks - grass!”

Alex leaned over to take a look at the wholly ordinary looking bunches of grass sprouting from the base of the dunes. “Wow,” he said, unimpressed.

“It’s unusual. This kind of grass doesn’t usually grow here. Someone must have brought it here.”

Alex hummed in disinterest. “Birds?” 

“No, no birds here. Must be too much action on the island now.”

“Rogue landscapers,” Alex shrugged.

“Must be,” the man laughed. He stood up and dusted himself off. “Sorry about the crash.” 

He offered Alex a playful salute by way of greeting. “They call me Jet.”

Alex mirrored him. People didn’t shake hands in this world and it was a relief, really. He supposed they were all the same type of paranoid. 

“I’m Alex,” he said. “I’ve seen you in the mess hall, with your twin.” 

Jet was the fit Chinese man he’d seen eating with his equally muscular friend. 

“Ah. We aren’t morning people.” Jet said. “Sorry we didn’t say hello. I haven’t seen you in class since.”

Alex shrugged. “I’m new.”

Jet fell into step and they headed back towards the compound. 

“How are you finding the school?” Jet asked. “The botany curriculum is fantastic here - you could say I’m inspired.”

“Do you like gardening?” Alex asked. 

Jet grinned. “Sure do. But poison is my thing. You?”

Alex frowned, thinking back to what Yassen had said about the school the last time he’d seen him.

“Intelligence, I guess. I’ve been told I’m sneaky.”

“Sneaky!” Jet said. “You’re nearly impossible to ignore when you walk into a room.”

Alex raised his eyebrows, staring at Jet incredulously. 

They came to a narrowing of the path in the gorse. Jet gestured for Alex to walk ahead. 

“It’s fine - I mean, it totally makes sense to take advantage of your natural gifts.”

“What are you on about?” Alex said. He stamped stray tendrils of gorse into the path so it wouldn’t catch at their bare shins.

“Oh, sorry.” Jet said quickly. “I just figured - since you’re so young and you have this whole doe-eyed blond thing going on. Uh. I’ll shut up now.”

“Okay,” Alex muttered, nonplussed. 

They crossed the meadow behind the student quarters in silence. A velvety dusk was only just touching the sky with purples and reds. 

“Did you want to get some dinner?” Jet said quickly, just as they stepped back onto the orderly gravel of the grounds.

“Sure,” Alex said. “I’m starving. See you at the mess after a shower.”

“Um,” Jet said. “I’ll meet you out front!” 

Before Alex could even wave goodbye Jet had turned tail and was loping across the courtyard.

Alex shrugged and let himself into his own quarters for a well deserved shower. 

There wasn’t time to wash and dry his well battered set of clothes before dinner, so Alex set about opening cupboards and cabinets.

There were clean linen tunics and pants in the set of drawers under the entertainment unit. They were clearly cut for a taller, broader man. 

Alex rolled up the cuffs and sleeves and tied the drawstring as tight as it could go around his hips. Talon would have a laugh when she saw the state of him.

Jet was waiting outside his quarters, a polite distance from the doors, but obviously waiting for him.

Alex surveyed him suspiciously as he toed his trainers on.

Jet’s hair and beard were damp from the shower but they were fastidiously combed. He had eschewed the SCORPIA tunics and was now in a smart pair of navy slacks and a crisp Lacoste polo. His shoes were shiny. 

“Hungry?” Jet called out as Alex approached. 

“Very.” Alex agreed, wondering if a dress code applied tonight. His linen tent and old adidas were as good as they were going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on Twitter at @SoggyMulder if you’d like to hear extremely Strong Opinions about my 20 years of torture at the hands of one Anthony Horowitz.


	4. Teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has an awkward dinner but receives a gift that makes up for it. Too many gifts, perhaps.

There was no dress code, judging by the usual mixture of athleisure and business casual that scattered the mess on their arrival.

Talon was easy to spot as she stood and sat a couple of heads above anyone else in any crowd. She spotted Alex immediately as well and he saw her begin to laugh at his linen swaddling as he approached before she abruptly sobered.

“Good evening, Jet,” she said, eyes darting between the two of them.

“Talon,” Jet returned the greeting politely. They eyed each other in silence.

“I’m going to get something to eat,” Alex said. He was hungry. He left them to their silent conversation. 

There were a couple of hearty stews at the service hatch tonight, one vegetarian and one beef. Alex skipped over the crusty rolls and spooned long grain rice into his bowl instead. 

Jet was seated opposite Talon when he returned. He looked over Alex _and_ Alex’s dinner appreciatively and stood to fetch his own eagerly.

That was when the penny dropped for Alex.

“Oh.” He put down the spoon he’d just picked up. 

Talon had her chin propped on her hand. Her own bowl was nearly licked clean in front of her but she was making no signs of leaving the table. 

“Oh,” she mimicked Alex playfully. “What have you been up to?” She nodded toward Jet’s empty seat.

“Nothing,” Alex insisted. “I was running and I nearly sent him face first into a dune.” 

“He’s stupid, huh?” Talon tapped her nails on the table in a cheerful rhythm. She kept glancing to the adjoining hallway.

“I don’t really know the man,” Alex said.

Talon smiled. “He’d like to know you.”

Alex glared back and started spooning stew into his mouth.

“Bad timing too,” Talon sighed cryptically.

Jet returned with an bowl of vegetarian stew.

They ate in silence made even more awkward by Talon’s decision to sit and watch them. 

Alex was kicking himself for not picking up on Jet’s signals. The man wasn’t subtle. 

Alex knew he was oblivious to most romantic remonstrations. It was a blind spot that had cut him both ways over the years.

Jet was shooting him sideways glances as they ate. It was clear he hadn’t factored in the possibility that Alex would sit with another friend in the mess. 

Talon was undeniably intimidating, too. From what Alex had seen, her “thing” was as simple as inflicting grievous bodily harm. 

“Would you like some bread, Alex?” Jet offered his plate. There were two rolls. Jet had obviously taken two with offering one to Alex in mind.

Did this performance of shallow generosity usually endear him to people? Alex wondered.

“No thank you.”

“Please, go ahead. I’m not going to eat it.” Jet insisted. 

“I’m not much for bread,” Alex said. 

Talon looked on in pure fascination.

“You could just have half, then,” Jet said, taking the roll and cutting it in half for Alex.

“No. Thank you.” Alex said again. He ignored the bread in favour of his dwindling rice.

A shadow darkened the table.

“Good evening Alex,” Yassen said. 

Alex was glad he already had an iron grip on his spoon. Jet, less fortunate, managed to knock both his rolls and butter knife off the table in an attack of nerves. 

Talon sat up straight, at attention but seemingly unsurprised.

“Have you come to try the stew?” Alex said.

“I have already eaten.” Yassen said. 

He eyed Jet, who was torn between getting down on his knees to tidy the mess he’d made and pretending nothing was amiss.

“See me in my office once you have finished your meal. Alone.”

Alex nodded.

Yassen took his leave.

Jet waited a beat before retrieving his fallen food. He put them at the end of the table and looked both ways before speaking.

“You know Yassen Gregorovich?”

Alex shrugged. “He invited me here.” He decided not to get into the complications.

Jet swallowed. “Oh.”

Alex let his spoon rattle into the bottom of his bowl. He was finished and Jet wasn’t the most stimulating conversationalist. 

“See you tomorrow,” he said, standing.

“I’ll take your plate,” Talon said, stacking it on top of her own. “You go to the meeting.”

“Thanks.” Alex set off down the hall to the offices. 

+++

Alex knocked and Yassen opened the door nearly immediately. 

“Come in, Alex.” He didn’t ask him to sit. Alex wouldn’t. 

“You wanted to see me?” Alex enquired, glancing around the office now that he had the presence of mind to audit the room. 

It was sparse but well appointed with a heavy wooden desk, two comfortable chairs and two slim laptops of a brand Alex could not distinguish closed on the desk.

“Was your meal pleasant?” Yassen asked, disarmingly. 

Alex frowned. “Sure.” 

“And the conversation?”

Alex looked up, suspicious. ”Riveting,” he said. 

Yassen maintained his impassive expression. He’d certainly overheard the entire boring exchange. 

“Ms Gunn can arrange for some of your belongings to be retrieved from your home tomorrow,” he said. “Is this something you would like?” 

Alex blinked. “No - well. Maybe some clothes,” he said ruefully. He had come to care more for the usefulness of objects he found in his vicinity than any item he might have stashed in his flat. 

“Very well.” Yassen said. He pulled a smartphone from his pocket and tapped out a note.

“Thanks.” Alex said. 

Yassen pocketed the phone and gave his outfit a head to toe assessment. “Laundry day?”

“I thought it was a good look on me,” Alex said.

“Ah. Dressing up for date night.” 

A cold rush ran through Alex’s veins. “No -” he insisted reactively before he could shut himself up. 

“No.” Yassen agreed.

Alex looked up, curious. Yassen was standing just as impassively as before, hands hanging loosely at his sides. But it was odd that he would have an opinion on something as pedestrian as a date.

“Do you know Jet?” Alex asked innocently.

“Jet.” Yassen formed the name as if it tasted bad in his mouth. “Poisons. Big mouth.”

“He’s friendly.”

Yassen ignored that and walked to his desk. He opened a drawer and took a bundle out. 

Alex tensed up. A gun?

“This is for you.” Yassen offered him the package. 

It felt light but substantial when it was placed in Alex’s hesitantly outstretched palms. Alex looked askance at Yassen before pulling open the simple brown paper folded around the item. 

It was some kind of modern knife. Slender and unassuming, sheathed in a semi-flexible material that could easily fasten to clothes by magnets or more traditional means. 

Alex drew the blade. It was thin, razor sharp and notched. A silent and vicious weapon.

“Ceramic.” Yassen said. “Nearly undetectable. Brittle though. Try not to strike bone.”

“Is this-“ Alex swallowed. “Is this my father’s or something? Ian’s? ...Ash?”

He ran his finger down the cold hilt and hovered over the live edge.

Yassen’s hand flew out and grasped him by the wrist, halting any thoughts of bloodletting. “No. It is yours.” 

He released Alex’s hand carefully. 

Alex sheathed the ceramic knife. 

“From you.” Alex said.

“Yes.”

“A gift from you.” Alex clarified.

“You don’t have a weapon.” Yassen said. “Others here have many.”

“I can make do.” Alex pointed out. 

“I am well aware of that.” Yassen said. “But why make do with ballpoint pens and fishbones when you need only ask.”

“Why not a gun?” Alex said. 

“Do you want a gun, Alex?” 

Yassen reached behind his back and unholstered his Glock 17. The customised red fibre optic sight glinted as he turned the pistol to offer it to Alex.

“I like this gun very much.” Yassen said. “So much that I’d have to ask you to trade something for it.” 

Alex’s mouth went dry. He considered what he had on him. He had the knife - but there was no question in his mind that he wanted to keep it. His shoes had been expensive but were worthless with the wear he put them through. His clothes belonged to SCORPIA. 

“It’s okay.” Alex said. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“You’d like a different gun?” Yassen asked. 

“No. Thank you.”

“If you’re certain.” 

Alex nodded. He slid Yassen’s gift into his waistband - it meshed seamlessly with the linen like velcro. 

“Your belongings will be delivered to your quarters.” Yassen said. He sat down at his desk, effectively dismissing Alex.

“Alright.” Alex said. “Thank you for the gift. G’night.”

“Sleep well, Alex.” Yassen said.

Alex nearly ran from the office, nerves skittering. All his hair felt like it was on end, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Yassen had been pleasant. Yassen has given him a gift - an excellent gift. What was so bad about that?

+++

There was a short rap on the door at 0600 the next day.

Alex peered through the peephole and opened the door to find Ms. Gunn waiting with a couple of men in nondescript dark clothing. He could see in the weak dawn light that they were all holding small crates.

“Morning!” Ms. Gunn said brightly. She was dressed in her usual grey pantsuit and ponytail, phone in hand. 

“Do you even sleep?” Alex said.

Ms. Gunn laughed. “Only when it’s convenient!” 

She gestured to the men. “Seeing as you’re settling in for a while, we’ve brought some of your belongings and things you might need. Don’t worry - we locked up after ourselves.”

Alex nodded and stood aside for them to enter. “I was wondering about my flat actually.”

“We can arrange property management, if you like.” Ms. Gunn said. She seemed to have thought of everything. “Maybe later you might like to pop the furniture into storage and rent it out? It would make a good little investment.” 

“Put it on Airbnb in the interim, invest the returns in the stock market through a series of blind brokers?” Alex said.

Ms. Gunn grinned. “You joke, but it’s a good idea. We can arrange it.”

Alex shrugged. The flat was hardly a home to him. “Alright.”

While they spoke the silent delivery men had unpacked the crates, leaving the contents in squared off piles on Alex’s neatly made bed and small table. They left without a word. 

Alex looked the items over, recognising his extra small UF Pro tactical shirts and pants folded separately to his bog standard Under Armour running shorts. There were three packets of new white boxer briefs he’d never seen before, a familiar pair of Salomon hiking boots he had both fond and not so fond memories of breaking in and two pairs of new Asics he did not recall buying.

It went on. Alex checked the other items suspiciously, finding new socks, his own shaving kit - but refilled with new blades and cream, an unobtrusive belt bag, a magnesium flint, new packages of Calvin Klein v-neck tees, and what appeared to be a small stationery kit complete with Bellroy pens, high quality 68gsm paper and HB and 4B pencils. 

“Am I supposed to be doing homework?” Alex asked, stacking the paper aside so it wouldn’t get creased.

“I don’t know,” Ms. Gunn said. “You’d have to ask Mr. Gregorovich.”

Alex shot her a withering look. 

“There’s just a little more,” she said helpfully, indicating the last folded collection of goods. 

Alex deconstructed the selection curiously. These were not his belongings by any stretch of the imagination. 

Alex held up two high quality dress shirts in black, a pair of suit pants and a blazer which were apparently immune to wrinkling. 

“That are these made of?” he muttered, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before setting them aside.

He then peeled back a small selection of fashionable tees, shorts and jackets with labels and logos identifying them as high end men’s brands. FOG, Stone Island and Gucci.

Alex raised his eyebrows at Ms. Gunn. 

“You might like to blend in with the tourists when you visit the mainland,” she explained.

At the very bottom of the pile there lay a small matte black case, no bigger than 25 centimetres square. Alex paused, then unlatched the opening. He was entirely unable to help himself.

Nestled in foam packing was a Glock 19. It was a little smaller than Yassen’s firearm, but otherwise nearly identical. It had the original stock sights on it. He’d have to select his own custom piece, he supposed. Glock standard sights were notoriously shoddy.

“This is too much.” Alex said, staring at the gun.

“You don’t get ammunition until you pass your shooting class.” Ms. Gunn said, helpfully.

“I told him I didn’t want a gun.”

Ms. Gunn shrugged.

“I could kill him,” Alex said. “Why would he risk it?”

“Mr. Gregorovich is perfectly able to make measured decisions and look after himself.” Ms. Gunn said, a very slight tinge of frost to her voice. “Perhaps he thinks the same of you.”

Alex’s breath caught in his throat. He’d never thought of it that way. As far back as he could remember, no one else had ever considered him worthy of that kind of respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments. 
> 
> I’d like to also draw your attention to changes to the old Yassen/Alex community on livejournal which may make it easier to browse for old mid 2000s Y/A fic. Membership is now unmoderated so you will find you need only Join Community with an LJ account to view locked posts. 
> 
> URL: https://yassen-alex.livejournal.com/95373.html


	5. Garlic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet makes sure they’re all good in class. Alex begins to think he might need some extra tutoring.

Alex finally saw Jet in a class - and fittingly it was Botany. 

“Alex,” he called out, waving from halfway across the meadow where the group had gathered around the tutor - who, to Alex’s surprise, was Jet’s semi-doppelgänger from the mess hall several days prior.

“Hi,” Alex said to the both of them.

Jet was in a fine mood despite the early hour. “This is my good friend, Aaron Alnwick. My twin.” Jet laughed. 

Alnwick nodded wordlessly at Alex in greeting. His callused hands were busy stripping the foliage from a bunch of bright orange flowers.

“Today we’re identifying common plants.” Jet said. “These are marigolds.”

“What are we doing with them?” Alex asked, watching Alnwick drop the flower heads into a tin of water and set it on a miniature portable stovetop by his feet.

“They’re antiseptic. Good for swelling and rashes.” Jet said. “Just boil them and drink up or apply the sap to the injury site.”

Alex wasn’t sure he was talking to the same man he’d sat silently next to the other night. When Jet talked about plants there was no trace of uncertainty in his voice. 

After twenty minutes of Jet’s one sided burbling to their classmates Alex began to wonder whether Alnwick was mute and Jet his interpreter. Then Alnwick spoke. Perhaps he was tired of Jet’s constant commentary.

“Go foraging,” Alnwick said in a gruff voice. “Bring back any plants you like, but be prepared to explain their uses. If you haven’t read the background papers on this terrain….perhaps you will test your findings live and the class can study the results.”

“I’m new,” Alex objected, but Jet shepherded him away before Almwick could acknowledge his objection.

“I’ll help you. He has a short temper.”

Alex shrugged and followed Jet to a green patch not already being picked over by their classmates.

“Here, what’s this?” Jet showed Alex a cluster of plants with long green leaves. The lower leaves had already withered, but the living ones were still tall and bright. 

Jet grasped a stem at the base and shook the root of the plant free from the crumbling earth. A small bulb emerged. He handed it to Alex and yanked another free for himself.

“Smells like garlic to me,” Alex said, confident that he knew this one.

“Yes. Garlic is an antibiotic,” Jet told him.

He pocketed the bulb and walked on towards the border of the meadow, closer to the quarters. Alex could see a rickety trellise littered with purple flowers on tall climbing stems.

“Mallow,” Jet said. He plucked a waving stem of its flower and leaves.

“Do you eat this one too?” Alex asked.

Jet nodded. “Or mash it up and apply to wherever it hurts. It’s a painkiller. People still use it for toothache.”

“Nice.” Alex harvested his own sample. 

Jet continued his leaf-picking. “Hey, we’re cool, right?”

Alex glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“You didn’t have any problems after we had dinner that time?” 

Engrossed in memorising the features of the mallow plant, Alex had to think about what on earth Jet was talking about for a moment before he clicked. 

Eating that awkward meal with Jet had faded in his memory compared to the interaction he’d had with Yassen afterwards. The ceramic knife was securely fastened around his waist under his quick dry shirt. 

“No,” Alex said truthfully.

Jet relaxed visibly. “Cool, cool, that’s good. We can just be friends, right? Is that okay with him?”

“Okay with _who_?” Alex asked.

Jet widened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows at him, clearly struggling to convey something seemingly obvious. Eventually he gave in. “Gregorovich!” he hissed.

“Why would he care who I talk to?” Alex scoffed. 

Jet huffed. “I thought he was going to shoot me at the table. I’ve been avoiding the main building all week to keep from standing on any toes.” 

“You’re paranoid. There’s nothing to worry about.” Alex said, mystified. “I could always do with more friends.”

“Just friends,” Jet clarified.

“...yeah, OK.”

Once their hands started turning yellow and green with the sap of broken stems and flowers it was time to reconvene in front of Alnwick. 

Alex joined a line up of sweating professionals in their twenties and thirties who seemed as nervous as sixth formers waiting for their morning exam.

He soon realised the comparison wasn’t far off. Alnwick interrogated them ruthlessly. By the time he was half way down the line Alex knew he would be in for an earful. 

His collection of flora wasn’t exactly diverse and Alnwick was not accepting repeated answers from students clutching the same common weeds.

Even Jet barely managed to squeak through by dredging up a couple of atypical uses for the various strains of the mallow plant.

“Begin,” Alnwick planted his feet in front of Alex, arms crossed.

“Garlic,” Alex said, “it’s antibiotic.”

“As we’ve heard. Perhaps you weren’t listening.” Alnwick said. “Do you have any of your own ideas?” 

“It’s a great remedy for starvation too.” Alex snapped. “Apply directly to the mouth.”

Alex could have sworn he heard Jet suck in a gasp from the other end of the line, but he kept his eyes on Alnwick’s thunderous face.

Alnwick couldn’t argue with the facts. He wrinkled his nose but eventually nodded shortly and moved on to bully the next handful of bruised petals. 

An encyclopaedic knowledge of plants could certainly be helpful, Alex thought, satisfied.

However, it was clear that you could manage pretty well in the wild with a few key pieces of knowledge when it came to survival skills.

Maybe Jet and Alnwick would come out on top in a face-off in a garden centre, but Alex had a sneaking suspicion that he could round at least Jet up like a sheep out in the real wilderness.

+++

Alex had extensive experience from the SAS when it came to bushcraft and field survival. He could identify poison ivy, brambles, toetoe, cacti and the dreaded but innocuous looking suicide plant - Gympie Gympie. 

A childhood under Ian’s tutelage had furnished him with the know-how to camp outdoors using brush and branches, and how to build fires in wetlands when the chance of finding dry wood seemed hopeless. 

It was, however, news to Alex that you could stuff a gunshot wound with yarrow to stem the bleeding. That marigold and basil could mask any number of pungent scents. That dogs found it more difficult to track you over dry rocky terrain. 

Alnwick knew a million of these obscure and useful facts, and he dispensed them throughout the class at a steady rate that implied he was unlikely to run out of information any time in the next decade. 

Alnwick’s class was a couple of measly hours a week at Malagosto but it had Alex’s head aching from the strain of trying to embed the contents of every one of them into his semantic memory banks.

“I think I understand why you’re into plants now,” Alex said. 

He had to lay his head down on the lunch table to get through the last five dry pages of Alnwick’s case study. 

He’d gone to the trouble of artificially manipulating the natural poison levels in plants to prove that cattle movements could be manipulated. 

The white paper wasn’t exactly specific on whether this was something to do with cattle rustling or industrial sabotage but Alex could think of a few creative applications.

“Addictive,” Jet agreed, eyes glued to his own copy.

“How do you remember all this stuff and everything else as well?” Alex complained.

Jet had absolutely destroyed him in taekwondo earlier. Talon had as well, but that went without saying. She was practically a weapon in her own right.

The reality was that everyone at Malagosto could floor him in hand-to-hand combat. He’d observed them in friendly spars - and sometimes unfriendly spars - and their skill level was across the board beyond Olympic.

Jet shrugged. “Practice. Field experience.” 

“I have field experience,” Alex countered.

“You’ve planned a job?” Jet said, surprised. He put down his reading.

Alex chewed his lip for a second, “Of course.”

Had he? Alex cast his mind back to the many times he’d improvised an information gathering task. The innumerable survival plans he’d had to concoct on the spot. 

Maybe not. Alex had voluntarily interfered in a few emergency situations but even then… He was highly reactive. That was all.

It was a skill, one any reasonably intelligent human could tap into in crisis. MI6 has relied on him slipping out of most jobs unchallenged based on his baby face, small stature and young plastic brain. 

“Maybe not,” Alex admitted.

“I wondered!” Jet laughed. “I was worried I might have to start feeling really inadequate.”

That stung somehow. Alex shrugged it off. Jet didn’t mean anything by it. For all he knew, Alex was some rich terrorist’s kid on a crime school holiday. He wouldn’t ask. It wasn’t done to probe that closely on Malagosto.

“I’ve gotta do some stuff,” Alex said abruptly, waving to Jet as he gathered his papers. 

He left the mess at a clip, lost in thought. It was pure luck that Talon was leaving the laundry at the same time.

“Alex,” she said fondly. “How are your bruises? Do you need any arnica?”

Alex rubbed his hip ruefully, remembering how she’d flipped him as if he was nothing but a wet noodle. His cat-like instincts had failed him there.

“It doesn’t hurt very badly,” he said with a grin.

It hurt _really_ badly.

“Alright, Alex,” she said, placating.

They walked companionably past the main block.

“What do you have to do for the Sensei to give you extra lessons? I could do with some tips. It’s been years since I attended a real dojo.” Alex asked.

He offered up his hands to carry Talon’s clean and folded taekwondo attire back to her quarters.

Talon’s face took on an apprehensive expression as Alex took the clothes out of her hands. 

Despite her comparative youth among her contract killing contemporaries, children were a mystery to her. 

Talon had been an only child educated very briefly in a small school until civil war had torn her home apart, and sent her into the arms of the armed resistance first for protection and then training. 

She hadn’t had the time to be much of a child in the first place – let along learn how one should explain _arrangements_ to one. 

And to Talon, Alex was a child. Certainly, he sported familiar cold eyes and he had nineteen odd years of fitness and martial arts under his belt. Still, compared to the jaded terrorists Talon had bunked in with at age twelve, Alex was a baby. 

She barely trusted the boy to hold the grenade pin in their Wednesday afternoon explosives tutorials, so worried she was that he might swallow it or stick it in his ear or something equally ludicrous.

Talon figured there was only one clean way to break kids into this kind of life. Tell them the truth straight up.

“We have a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she said honestly. “I have sexual intercourse with him, and in return I receive extra-curricular training.”

Alex just about dropped Talon’s white robes into the dust of the track they were traversing.

“Isn’t that…a bit…unprofessional! I mean, he’s our teacher!” 

Alex groped about for words, and gave up when he realised that anything he said could potentially result in a well-deserved chop to the jugular.

Talon smiled, enjoying watching Alex visibly have to rearrange his perception of the hierarchy of SCORPIA training.

“Does that mean that I have to ask someone…like Jet…?”

Talon raised her eyebrows in amusement. 

“You don’t have to do anything, Alex. But myself and many others, trainee and teacher alike, have reaped many benefits from this system. 

“It is very lonely in this job. Even when you are attending a friendly camp like Malagosto, sometimes you need something more than a friend. Someone worthy of your trust.” 

Alex’s brows knit together and his head dropped in thought as they paced slowly through the twilight.

“What happens after you graduate? Is it like dating? Or like just buying knowledge every time?”

“It is your choice. You may choose to offer your services in return for certain information, or forge a stronger relationship offering shared information and protection. Or part ways. Just like an ordinary couple.”

They reached their units in silence, and Alex walked Talon to her first storey doorway, handing over her clothes once she had punched in her code and thumbprint. 

He turned away towards the stairwell with a wave goodnight. She walked quickly after him, touching his elbow softly, and stooping from her Amazonian height to meet his eyes squarely.

“Choose carefully, Alex. You are still young, no matter what you think. Some will try to take from you without giving in return. If you want to do this, you will need…” she thought for a moment.

“Stability,” she said at last, “stability and reliability. Someone honest and experienced.”

Alex averted his eyes uncomfortably, laughing off the seriousness of her tone. 

“You sound like you’re trying to marry me off!”

Talon straightened up again and stalked back to her door with the confident gait of the killer that she was. 

Opening the door, she called back to him, ”That would be too easy.”


	6. Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is not used to lagging behind the class. He decides to be proactive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to annaslastdalliance, a dear dear friend, for assuring me that I’m not completely incoherent all of the time.

Alex made his way to the main building with heavy feet, and nerves so on edge that he could practically feel every cell of his body vibrating in part terror, part anticipation. 

It was already dark. Alex had run the island, paced his quarters arguing with himself and sat in a hot bath for a total of fifteen nerve jangling minutes. He couldn’t think. He had to do something, for better or worse.

Despite it being nine in the evening, Ms. Gunn was still at her desk, ever vigilant in her sentry over Yassen Gregorovich’s office.

She heard Alex before he was halfway across the room, his soft footsteps a dead giveaway, echoing under the domed ceiling. 

Had Sensei seen his entry, he would have reprimanded Alex and set him extra stealth exercises. 

But Ms. Gunn just looked up with a smile as usual. She paused her rapid pen strokes over a stack of papers, but continued to unobtrusively tap at her phone one-handed without needing to watch the screen or the tiny keys. 

Not for the first time, Alex wondered if the device was actually somehow surgically attached.

“Are you alright, Alex?” Ms Gunn enquired.

Alex nodded before changing his mind mid-dip and shaking his head slowly. “I was hoping you could tell me how to find-” 

Alex’s throat closed up, and he coughed nervously.

“I’d like to talk to Yassen. Please.”

Ms. Gunn appraised him, still tapping her phone. She glanced at the screen for a split second. “He’s available. Go on in.” 

Alex approached the office door tentatively. It didn’t help his nerves at all when Yassen opened it just as he reached for the handle.

“Alex,” Yassen acknowledged him. “Come.”

The door was shut firmly behind him and Alex recognised the familiar thud of an electronic deadbolt lock falling into place. It sent a cool chill down his spine. 

Worse, he’d definitely heard the same sound the last couple of times he’d been in the office - he’d just not registered it as a lock until now. What an idiot. Was his brain function slowing as he aged?

“What can I do for you, Alex?” Yassen interrupted his thoughts. 

Alex snapped back to attention. 

The assassin was sliding a smartphone into his pocket. Evidently Ms Gunn had alerted him as soon as she’d seen Alex approaching.

Alex parted his lips, then paused, licking them in consternation. How did he want to phrase this? If he was absolutely honest with himself, Alex was loath to admit weakness, especially to Yassen Gregorovich. It was crazy to give up a vulnerability to a killer. 

Start out with a pleasantry, he decided. Then see where his mouth took him. 

“Thank you,” Alex said, with supreme difficulty, “for the clothing and stuff.” 

Yassen stood in place impassively. “You’re welcome,” he volleyed the polite small talk back into Alex’s court.

Yassen wasn’t going to give him an easy opening, Alex realised, feeling oddly panicked.

“I came to ask a favour,” Alex blurted out. He immediately regretted it, knowing instinctively that he’d lost any negotiating power he might have had. 

Yassen hadn’t moved from his spot but his gaze changed minutely from his usual cool appraisal to keen interest.

That, more than anything, told Alex he was in trouble. 

“Bold of you,” Yassen said. He stepped back a little to lean back against his desk. The movement drew Alex a few steps further into the room. Curiosity might yet kill the cat.

“Tell me what you want, Alex, and I will tell you whether I can fulfil your request...for a price of my own, of course. Yes?”

Alex opened his mouth and closed it again quickly. He hadn’t planned on getting this far. What did he want, exactly? What had Talon said? 

“I suppose.” Alex agreed quickly. “I wanted - I want to make a mutually beneficial arrangement. I need to learn the things the other students here already know.

“I’ve read offensive techniques in books, and I’ve fought in self defense, and I’ve...I’ve killed.”

Alex looked up at Yassen through his mussed fringe. “But it’s not the same.”

It was the first time he’d managed to find the words to describe what he’d felt he’d lacked his whole time at Malagosto. 

It was what had been missing five years ago as well. Not that he wanted to be sent out to have another crack at Mrs Jones. No. 

“I understand.” Yassen said immediately. “Now, it is my turn to negotiate, correct?” 

“Alright.” Alex agreed nervously. 

Yassen studied him intensely. Taking in the nearly imperceptible shake in the hands Alex had clenched at his sides.

“Have you asked anyone else for this - mutually beneficial arrangement?”

“No,” Alex said slowly.

“Do you intend to?” 

“I mean - I don’t know - maybe?” Alex said, puzzled.

“And what would you trade?” Yassen paused, “ _mutually_.” he specified, imbuing the word with meaning.

Alex averted his gaze. He felt an instinctive flush rise to his face. He couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried.

“MI6 intel, long out of date?” Yassen guessed for him. “Names? I find it hard to believe the little Alex I remember would trade lives for lessons.”

Alex blanched slightly, staring at the toe of Yassen’s brown boot, planted beside the desk. 

Trading intel...he hadn’t even considered it. What that could mean.

“So, a favour, perhaps,” Yassen mused, eyes tracing Alex’s form slowly from his new ASICS to the crown of his dirty blond hair, tousled and slightly curled from his bath. 

“I don’t think you understand your own worth.” Yassen said. “Anyone on this island would pay a steep price to take you to bed for the first time.” 

Alex blushed again, certain he was entirely pink now. “As if you’d know if - if it was -!” he stumbled out.

Yassen ignored his protests. “From experience, I believe I can say you’ve never been good at bargaining, Alex.”

“I can look after myself,” Alex said. The strain in his voice betrayed him entirely.

“Certainly,” Yassen said, his tone entirely sarcastic. He shifted on his feet. 

“Very well. I have a proposition that may be agreeable to us both.” 

Alex nodded tightly to indicate he was listening.

“Malagosto is a very expensive school, Alex. Now you’re asking for private lessons. I desire nothing more than to see all your needs met.” 

Yassen clasped his hands behind his back, as if he were delivering career advice. He was smiling though, in that mildly terrifying way he sometimes had.

Another chill slid down Alex’s spine.

“My price. You will make no arrangements, unless they are with myself.” Yassen said.

“I don’t understand.” Alex said.

Yassen shrugged. “You have nothing but yourself to bargain with, so when you want something, you come to me. I will ensure your trade is fair. Yes?”

Alex stared blankly for a solid ten seconds, brain running at maximum capacity to unravel this doublespeak. 

But he knew exactly what Yassen was delicately edging around. 

It was as if the thought had reached out of his subconscious, where it had been waiting for years, _years_ , right down into Alex’s gut and it was squeezing. 

This had to be a dream. A game. Yassen was mocking Alex, suggesting ridiculous variations on hormone-fueled daydreams just to get him flustered.

“You’re mad!” Alex said, mouth still running one hundred kilometres faster than his brain. “What kind of rubbish are you talking? - I can’t - I’ve never - surely you’re joking?”

“It’s your choice,” Yassen said mildly. “You are under no obligation. Just as you were under no obligation to return to Malagosto.”

Alex glared. Surely Yassen knew, surely he understood there had not been a choice. Not really. There was only him. The only unbroken path left. The chance had lit up in his brain like the bloody yellow brick road. 

He hated that he trusted Yassen. He hated that this monster cared more for his good health and happiness than than the Queen’s Own Men ever had. The unfairness roiled like poison under his skin. A monster who recognised another monster just like him.

Alex sucked a breath into his chest and lifted his chin. 

“I’ll find something to trade you.”

Yassen shrugged nonchalantly, a twinkle in his eye. “Celibacy is an admirable trait among our kind.”

“Besides I might just...go elsewhere soon. Get a girlfriend or something.” Alex bluffed. 

“Very well. As long as you don’t break your promise to me, Alex.”

Alex frowned. “I don’t understand what could be in this for you. If it’s… sex… that you want, why not make that the price?” 

Yassen tilted his head, recapturing Alex’s gaze, unblinking eyes dark and hypnotic in the low light of the desk lamp. “That’s not what I said.” 

He reached out, so fast that Alex couldn’t even think to duck. 

Yassen had the nape of Alex’s neck cradled in his palm in an instant, long dangerous fingers wound tightly in Alex’s hair. The tugging on the strands stung when he lifted Alex onto his toes, high enough to be at Yassen’s eye level.

Alex distantly recognised that Yassen had scruffed him like an errant kitten.

Yassen studied his face, closer than he’d been in five years. Since the day he thought he might have sprouted a conscience and died for this stupid, brilliant, beautiful golden child. 

“If you’re set on playing real spy games, then you will play them with me, Alex.” 

Yassen’s warm breath brushed Alex’s cheeks. They were nearly gaunt, though he’d never really had baby fat. Yassen knew Alex didn’t eat frequently enough, even now. 

Alex stared up at him, eyes as large as saucers and completely tame. If only Yassen had known it was so easy to silence the boy.

But a quelled boy wasn’t going to answer him. Yassen twisted his fingers in the handful of fair hair he held captive.

Alex blinked and hissed, back with the living suddenly, like a stunned bird re-galvanised. 

Yassen’s tightly wound fingers didn’t really hurt. Not like other things people had done to him. Awful things Alex didn’t like to remember. 

This was so different as to almost feel alien. 

Living the strange life he had, Alex had felt the grips of many men’s hands around his throat - and he’d never once liked it. 

Not like this. 

Yassen’s firm grip was something entirely different.

The assassin’s warm palm was stable around his nape, easily supporting the entire weight of a skull Alex suddenly perceived as fragile. 

Yassen could collapse his windpipe with the application of a finger. Snap his neck like a rabbit with a twist. Choke him into unconsciousness with a slow gentle squeeze. It would be so easy. 

This was his first lesson, Alex knew without having to ask. 

Yassen’s thumb, callused but warm, swept over his pulse point: fond, tender and overly familiar as Yassen always inexplicably was. Warmer and closer than anyone had been in years. 

Alex tamped down most of a full body shudder with his eyes tightly closed, knowing that Yassen was watching every muscle he moved. 

Respect your teacher.

Yassen released him carefully, letting Alex drop down from his tip-toes. Yassen let his palm drop away, leaving Alex’s nape warm.

Alex heard himself swallow in the silence. He paused to catch his breath, “Alright. Deal.”


	7. Extension Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his strange new arrangement finally settled with Yassen, the new week seems to start with everything going Alex’s way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted with apologies and adoration for an old friend, capeofstorm.

Alex woke up with a start, entirely alert and alone. Sunlight was warm through the thin linen blind. He’d slept in late. 

The SAS and SCORPIA had a couple of things in common, one being that neither tolerated sleeping in late.

Alex threw his covers back and dressed quickly. White tee, long double layered running shorts and leggings. He stuffed his feet into his new ASICS. 

The knife. Alex startled for a split second before pressing a hand to his side in relief. He slept with it secured to the soft belt band around his waist. It lay flat enough that he barely noticed he was wearing it.

He splashed his face as he brushed his teeth and let the door slam behind him on the way out. 

There were only a couple of sad fried eggs and a ladle of congealed beans to scavenge from, but Alex was ravenous. He scraped them onto a plate before they could be cleared away and pocketed two oranges for later.

The tables and benches were deserted and Alex wracked his brains as he ate. He couldn’t even recall the day of the week. It was like his head was stuffed with cotton this morning. 

He thought back to the reading he’d done with Jet the day prior, and the merciful near-beating Talon had dished out in the morning.

Sunday, he decided, staring up at the large clock face above the service hatch. It had just gone nine-thirty. Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. 

There were no classes on Sundays by nature of their location in Italy. On the mainland most businesses would be closed as well. Many Italians would be in church.

Several of the island’s inhabitants would be in the chapel now, Alex guessed, although he knew some observed other holy days.

The others would be catching up on non-training related business.

Alex was considering applying himself to his electronics project in the workshop. He had been set up with an (apparently) moderately simple electronic password bypass device. 

The tutor, known only to the students as Mx. Ohm, communicated with them via a voice-disguised video call. They expected Alex to have the components stripped down and rebuilt without a physical blueprint by the end of the next week.

He was finding it a stretch challenge, but it was already beginning to make sense to him in his head, the logical purposes of each piece and the circuits between them fitting together neatly. 

Too bad it was a child’s puzzle compared to the other projects happening around him. The man that sat behind Alex in the workshop was messing around with custom nuclear device detonation failsafes. There was a husband and wife duo down the back who were far too eager to wire their lethal shrapnel mine into the old car the class had previously used for burglary and hot wiring practice. 

On second thought, Alex didn’t want to sit in the workshop without Mx. Ohm’s all-seeing digital supervision.

The mess door creaked - something Alex realised now was a courtesy feature that alerted diners to their peers’ entry. Alex watched in amusement as Talon ducked in under the lintel. He smiled - he never usually beat her to the mess but the irritated face she pulled as she ducked under the low door frame might be worth turning up earlier.

Her face brightened when she spotted him. “There you are.”

“Late morning,” Alex explained.

Talon smiled at him indulgently as she made her way over. “Do you still want help with hand-to-hand training?”

Alex blinked. 

Only yesterday she’d told him he could consider brokering a deal with someone for extra training. Now she was volunteering?

“Will Thursday evenings suit?” Talon said, tapping the table impatiently in a jaunty rhythm.

“Yes, of course! - but - I think I need to talk to someone first.” Alex stopped, uncertain. Did he need to ask - did this fall under the terms he’d agreed to with Yassen?

Talon stopped tapping. 

The back of Alex’s neck was suddenly cloaked in heat. He melted instinctively, looking up to find Yassen at his shoulder.

“Thursday should do as well as any other day.” Yassen said.

“Not Fridays,” Talon said, friendly but still polite, as if reminding Yassen of a prior conversation.

“Of course.” Yassen said.

“Did you arrange this?” Alex managed somehow, anchored to his seat by the press of Yassen’s palm. 

“Yes. Talon knows you well enough to not permanently injure you. But she is sensible enough to know some lessons need to be painful.”

Yassen’s thumb brushed very slightly up the column of his neck before he pulled away.

“Seven o’clock.” Talon said decisively. “That leaves time for you to digest your meal.” 

Alex nodded, slightly dazed, but not unhappy.

“Good,” was all Yassen said before he left just as silently as he’d entered.

Alex hesitated before speaking. “Did Yassen arrange some kind of deal with you?” 

“He did,” Talon said, smirking like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “My time has been very well compensated. Thank you!” she waggled her brows at him. “I’ll be taking an extended holiday after this course concludes.”

“You’re welcome?” Alex said slowly.

“Thursday,” she reminded him, standing to leave. “I will bring a first aid kit.” 

Alex watched Talon go with only mild concern at her enthusiasm. 

He scrubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously and got up himself. Maybe another circuit of the island would settle his nerves.

+++

The island became wilder near the edges.

There was something about the rolling windswept fields and crumbling sandy cliffs that relaxed Alex. Maybe it was the sea air, maybe the illusion of remoteness. 

Once he reached the sandy beaches there was a gorgeous view of Venice in the near distance. 

Alex tended to run a little faster there, loping around behind the scrub, his heart beating a little faster. He was worried that he would be spotted from the mainland, as unlikely as that was. Because wasn’t Alex now a traitor on the run?

He sprinted down a natural dip in the terrain that directed him away from the exposed shoreline. His nerves calmed as he lost sight of the beautiful pastel toned sinking city.

The rest of the island was far more interesting. From what he could remember from his long-ago stay, his more recent air approach and his dogged running explorations, the island was long, low-lying, and made up of three segments. 

Two were connected by a crumbling historical bridge. Alex had never used it - SCORPIA had engineered their own discreet crossings.

Their quarters and most of the compound’s building were concealed in the wooded centre of the island, completely invisible to leisure boaters and mainland locals alike.

The only signs of civilisation Malagosto displayed to offshore admirers were a crumbling twelfth century belltower and the red brick ruins of what may have been a sanitorium or an asylum, depending on who you asked. 

Despite having spent twenty minutes jogging along the island interior side of both structures every evening for the last three weeks, Alex hadn’t decided yet. He was sure he could settle the debate with enough exploration. 

Unfortunately, the tower and the hospital had the notable distinction of being both completely fenced off - on all sides - and the shore side lay in plain sight of another far more famous and well inhabited Venetian island - Lido.

The fencing was odd, Alex thought, walking alongside the tightly meshed steel. Odd when SCORPIA certainly weren’t interested in keeping their students off the beaches or any of the other ruins that scattered Malagosto.

Alex toed a rock out of the dirt idly and flicked it against the fence. It pinged off and rolled away, barely shaking the rigid links. Not electrified, he noted. 

The grass on the other side of the fence was dry and dusty, littered with chunks of debris from the crumbling stonework. There was a glint closer to the rotting structure that remained of the building’s boarded up back porch. Glass or metal catching the light. 

Alex jogged ahead to see if he could get a better look and then grinned fondly. A crumpled Coca Cola can, still reflecting brilliant red and silver. The evidence of recent activity. 

Further around the perimeter Alex walked directly through the dappled shadows of the old bell tower and the ancient cypress trees that stood around it like stooping attendants. 

The debris was worse here. Pieces of the tower had been peeling off for centuries now. 

Ancient tree roots knotted up the ground underfoot, catching at Alex’s feet. No doubt they were part of the problem; the root structures criss-crossed under the fence and looked to be enmeshed with the tower’s foundations. 

Nature was both pulling the building apart and holding it together.

In broad daylight Alex could also see that nature had also seen fit to form the broad cypress branches into the next best thing to a ladder.

+++

“The vertical piece, the diagonal piece and trigger piece,” Alex repeated.

“Diagonal piece…” Jet scrawled down into his notebook. The page was already black with ink from previous one word exclamations. None of those notes seemed to have stuck in Jet’s head either. 

“Shit,” Jet said, looking at the small collection of sticks in his lap. 

He looked at Alex’s perfectly formed deadfall trap. 

“How are you so good at this?”

Alex grinned. “Lots of camping.”

That was the truth. His uncle Ian had taught him how to construct the perfect figure 4 deadfall trap when he was a kid. It was so simple that all you really needed were a few sticks, a sharp knife, a big rock and some kind of bait.

They taught it in the SAS too, but Alex wasn’t about to tell anyone on Malagosto about that. Besides, Alex found that his custom version featuring an extra trigger piece was far superior to the SAS standard method.

Jet scowled and mimed a punch at Alex’s trap. 

“Watch it,” Alex laughed. “Unless you want a flat hand?”

As if it had heard him - the trap triggered. Alex leapt out of range, flinging his arm out to keep Jet back too. The huge flat rock thudded into the earth, crushing most of the components into splinters.

“You weren’t kidding,” Jet said, curling his feet under him nervously.

Alex nudged at the ruins of his trap with the toe of his shoe. Something had triggered the trap. His deadfalls weren’t prone to false alarms.

Alex found the trigger extension he’d carved in the dust, well clear of the trap. That in itself was suspicious. The trigger should still be under the rock, crushed alongside the unfortunate prey that had set it off. 

Alex dropped to one knee and picked up the extension piece. The end that he’d lashed to the shorter original trigger was jagged, snapped away from the tightly wound twist of plant fibre he’d improvised to hold the pieces together.

There was the softest brush of the back of Alex’s wrist as he turned the wood. He wrinkled his nose, expecting a bug, but there was nothing but a faint glint that set off his suspicions.

Alex pulled the splintered trap piece through a loosely closed fist. There. He lifted his eyebrows as he felt the drag of a fine thread. Alex grasped it between his forefinger and thumb for a closer examination.

Fine, nearly invisible fishing line, or perhaps carbon fibre. Alex knew from experience that the stuff was unbelievably strong and flexible. He could haul a marlon twice his weight ashore with the right spool and rod and the careful application of tension.

This piece was snapped free. It was nearly impossible for it to have been snipped loose without Alex seeing the culprit. No, it was clear that the line had snapped under a forceful yank by human hands. 

How it had gotten wound around Alex’s trap piece in the first place was another question entirely.

“Your attention, please!”

He wound the fibre around the wooden nub and stuffed it into his pocket. 

Alex stood up and took his place between his collapsed trap and Jet’s dwindling stack of kindling. The gardener had chipped away until the twigs he had left would struggle to hold up a leaf, let alone a rock with enough weight to pin a squirrel or rabbit. 

The instructor, Pani Lena, walked through the group, glancing over their work.

Alex thought he saw her look to the heavens when she came past Jet’s mess of wood shavings. It really did look like he’d gone to town with a pencil sharpener.

She walked by Alex, eyes flicking over the triggered trap thoughtfully. “Szkoda, Alex. The extension was good thinking, especially on barren terrain.” 

Alex nodded, relieved she’d noted his work prior to its destruction. 

She strolled past the next cluster of students. “Is your trap invisible, Cash?” she asked dryly.

The man in question carried on cleaning his fingernails with a wicked looking pocket knife. He was lounging on a rock without even a twig at his feet. The whittling knife he’d been issued was in the dirt at his feet, still sheathed.

“Sure,” he drawled, not bothering to look up. “Right next to the lightweight wire, steel loop clasps and auto-trip reels you supplied.” 

Pani Lena waited patiently as Cash laughed at his own joke.

“Forgot I enrolled in the Cub Scouts,” he chuckled finally.

“You don’t think you need to know how to build a trap?” Pani Lena asked. 

“I’m no camper,” Cash waved her away dismissively. “I hunt bigger prey than rabbit, lady.” 

Pani Lena nodded and walked on. “Very well. The student chooses his grades.” 

She spoke to a few more students about their work before calling the class to a close. 

“Take the next few days to design a mechanism that will allow you to eat in the wild in the absence of modern materials and tools. 

“It must be capable of capturing live prey of any size. It must have a trigger mechanism. I suggest you look into the notes I have supplied on physics.

“Return to class on Thursday with illustrated blueprints. You will construct your device under supervision next week.” 

Alex followed along, fingers itching to get started. He had an idea for something perfect. A non-lethal but incapacitating mechanism that would work as both a trap and a concealed foot lock for anyone sneaking around where they shouldn’t be.

Distracted by his thoughts, Alex didn’t see the shoulder check coming his way. 

“Move it, small fry.”

Alex stumbled back a step to get out of Cash’s space. 

The man jogged off without a word. Alex wrinkled his nose and looked to Jet, who was picking up his twig collection. 

“Pushy, pushy,” Alex wondered, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Absolute ball bag.” Jet muttered. “You don’t want to meet him in the field either.”

“You’ve worked with that guy?”

“Cash Crawfisher.” Jet said. “He was the heavy on a job I was involved in a couple of years ago. They contracted me to ensure a few key individuals took very well-timed naps in a big casino.”

Jet sighed wistfully. 

“Practically a paid vacation. Great pool, swim-up bar, strongest cocktails I’ve had in my life.”

Alex knelt down to help gather Jet’s belongings, fascinated by the insight into Jet’s life outside Malagosto.

“Long story short,” Jet continued, taking point as they started back down the lush wooded trail, “I’ve never seen someone go fishing for humans in the desert before or since.”

Alex stared. “Fishing for what?” He ran to catch up with Jet. “Are you serious?”

“Reely serious,” Jet said solemnly. He dodged a kick to the shins. 

“But for real, have you ever seen a dude on a hook?”

“Erm,” Alex said awkwardly. 

Jet gave him a curious look. “Huh. Well, Crawfisher is a freak. Stay clear of his claws.”

Alex rolled his eyes. People said his puns were in bad taste! 

“So, Davy Crockett. Are you going to help me with my project?”

“You need it,” Alex agreed happily. Finally something was going right.


	8. Gone Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a mystery afoot - but Alex takes one for the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the wait.

“I can’t find it anywhere.” Jet said. He stood in his doorframe, running his hands through his thick dark hair in exasperation. “I could swear I left it on the table.”

Alex peered past Jet into the dim unit. “Do you mind if I look?”

Jet stepped out of the door and waved Alex in. Alex slipped inside, leaving Jet to sink into a petulant crouch against the wall outside.

The first thing Alex noticed was that Jet’s quarters were smaller than his own. It was set up like a small studio motel room with a closet sized bathroom. It was clean enough if you ignored the myriad of dry curling leaves and stems scattered across every flat surface.

“Was it like this before?” Alex called behind him as he poked his head into the bathroom. There were ferns in the shower. 

“Like what?” Jet yelled back. 

“Like Jurassic Park,” Alex said. He tiptoed around a tangle of carnivorous flowers. They couldn’t hurt him but he didn't want to accidentally set them off and have the poor things digest themselves. 

“It’s just a couple of pot plants,” Jet muttered defensively. 

Apart from a bit of a scuffed mess on the table, which could have been Jet, to be fair, there wasn’t even a footprint out of place.

“Hold on…” Alex squinted at a familiar glint. 

Caught on the sharp edge of the deadlock was a length of filament, as thin as spider silk. It waved in the sun soaked breeze like a luxuriously long strand of fair hair. 

Alex pinched the thread between his short fingernails, plucking it free from the lock. He looped it neatly around his fingers and tested it between his hands. There was no doubt that his flesh would give before the carbon fibre. Perfect for working with lock mechanisms.

“Found something?” Jet said.

Alex pocketed the fibre.

“Nah. So, when did you last see your papers?” Alex asked cheekily. 

Jet glared. “I told you - last night!” 

“And before that?”

“I was studying with everyone else who left it until the last minute, you nerd.” Jet said, exasperated. “We finished up at literally 3am. I thought Ms. Gunn was going to kill us if we didn’t let her go off-duty.” 

“I thought you were all good after we worked together?” Alex raised his brows.

Jet hunched over a little in embarrassment. “I was! I was almost done, but then I got ferns. So…”

Alex rolled his eyes. 

“Well, it’s one class,” Alex pointed out optimistically. “It’s not like they kill you for failing anymore. You can’t even fight the other students now.”

Jet shook his head miserably. “No, it's far worse. They blacklist you. Bomb one class and you’re criminal non grata. Goodbye contracts, goodbye country estate.” 

Jet sorrowfully pulled his front door shut and set off across the gravel as if they were walking to his funeral. 

“You can ask Pani Lena for an extension,” Alex suggested, jogging to keep up with Jet’s longer legs.

“No, no, no, that is not how it works.” Jet groaned, running his hands through his short beard, then his hair, eventually yanking at his collar in distress. 

“SCORPIA has a _monopoly_ ,” he moaned, “who else is even _hiring_? Alnwick will kill me himself - you know he was my referee? _I don’t want to go back to Australia, Alex_.”

“Okay, chill! Look.” Alex interrupted. He was not equipped to deal with thirty year olds in hysterics, thank you. “Just take my project. Hand it in as yours.”

Jet stopped walking in the middle of the trail and looked at him as if he’d gone insane.

“It’s fine,” Alex said. “It’s completely fine.” He pulled the folded sheaf of papers out of his pocket and offered them up.

Jet stared at the hand penned plans as they fluttered in the breeze. “You’ve lost it.” Jet said finally, reaching out slowly to take them. 

Alex shrugged it off, ignoring the small pebble of apprehension drop into the pit of his stomach. 

“Are you absolutely sure?” Jet said, clutching the paper. “I mean, you’re here for your career. We all are.”

“I’ve been blacklisted before, I don’t think it will really matter a second time,” Alex said cryptically. 

Jet furrowed his eyebrows at that but wisely elected not to prod further.

“Listen, Pani Lena is going to ask you about it, so I’ll tell you real quick how it works.”

“Alex, I’m going to have to _make this_ next week.”

“It’s not that hard, really.”

Jet just looked at him.

“Okay, so there is a lot of whittling involved. You’re going to have to hand drill holes. Make some spikes. You’ll need to make bindings too.”

Jet threw his hands up.

“I can show you how to create a spring pole to power the vertical trigger.” Alex offered.

“What kind of Medieval torture device have you invented…” Jet said, opening Alex’s folded paper to look for himself.

“It’s nothing that new!” Alex objected. “It’s just a primitive bodybind trap!” 

“Please...Alex, you’ve written here that it has _sliding parts_.”

+++

“Do you understand?” Alex said finally, after describing the physics of the bind for the third time.

“I sure hope so,” Jet muttered, clutching the paper tightly as they reached their usual clearing.

“Oh God,” Jet said. “She’s already here.”

“You go first,” Alex said, pushing him toward the gaggle of waiting students. 

Jet shot him a guilty look, but he got in line. 

The hulking bully Alex remembered from earlier sessions was at the head of the line, as well as head and shoulders above the rest of the group. 

Crawfisher was taking a mess of papers back from Pani Lena, his face betraying the fact that he was utterly disinterested in the feedback the instructor was giving him. 

Alex raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t really marked Crawfisher down as the type to hand in paperwork.

Their instructor made good time through the group, glancing over their work briefly just to confirm it was feasible for their next project. 

“This is good, Jet,” Pani Lena said when she came to them, looking up at Jet with surprise. “Very good. I look forward to seeing you implement it next week.”

Jet visibly swallowed. “Thank you?” he managed as she handed the blueprints back to him.

“Alex.” 

Alex scrambled to his feet and asserted a rueful stance, digging the toe of his shoe into the dirt self consciously. He sucked in a breath and started lying.

“Przepraszam.” Alex said, looking up at her through his fringe, his hands open and empty.

He actually was sorry to disappoint her. Pani Lena was an excellent instructor. If he was ever lost in the wilderness again Alex knew he would lean heavily on the survival knowledge and experience she’d shared with them. 

“I forgot.” A pathetic excuse but one someone might rightfully expect from a teenager. “Could I have an extension?”

Pani Lena shook her head. “I must issue you a black mark, Alex.”

Jet locked eyes with Alex over her shoulder for a second, his face still pained.

“I understand.” Alex said by rote, memories of making excuse after excuse to the oblivious teachers at Brookland Comprehensive School forefront in his mind. “I won’t do it again.”

Pani Lena looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. 

“Ensure you have a design ready for next week’s work,” was all she said. Then she moved on to the next student.

“Thank you Alex.” Jet said once the group dispersed. He held out his hand for Alex to shake. “I owe you a favour.”

“It’s fine.” Alex said, taking his hand awkwardly. 

Jet slumped into the dirt in a relieved pile. “Just let me lay here for a second, okay.” 

Alex suppressed a sigh and scuffled into the underbrush. 

He was going to have to come up with a new snare within a couple of days. He figured he may as well start building the prototype beforehand. Long straight strong wood was not exactly at a premium on an Italian island. 

Unfortunately, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one looking to get a headstart on the competition.

Alex hadn’t searched far into the treeline when he heard the distinctive crunch of old leaves being trampled underfoot.

Alex looked up, expecting to see Jet. 

He was surprised to see it was Crawfisher skulking around in the bushes, his blueprints scrunched into his back pocket. The black chicken scratch on the dog eared paper looked awfully familiar.

“Get outta here, shrimp.”

“Yeah, sure. Give me a minute.” Alex muttered, reaching for another stick. 

Crawfish extended a blue jean clad leg and stepped down hard enough to snap it. 

“Heard your dog ate your homework, got you a black mark.”

“I misplaced it.” Alex said, then decided to jump right in and test the waters. “Maybe I should have gone to the cram session last night too.”

Crawfish eyed him suspiciously. 

“This neighbourhood is going down the toilet. Can’t even leave papers out on the table.” Alex mused.

Crawfish stood up. “Did you have something to say to me, little boy?”

Alex shrugged. He pulled the loop of fishing line out of his pocket and twirled it around his finger.

“I found this snagged on a door earlier. I thought there was something fishy about it.” Alex said. 

He waved it about like a little tassel, then slipped it back into his pocket with a flourish.

The hook caught.

Crawfish lunged for him, his ridiculously meaty arms flailing. 

Alex ducked and rolled, leaping to his feet. 

“We’re not allowed to fight,” he reminded Crawfish. 

Crawfish hissed in aggravation, circling Alex. Alex relaxed, certain he had the agility to duck the man’s fists. 

Well, he was wrong. 

Alex was no active field agent. He’d be the first to admit he was out of practice, and he hadn’t been as nimble as he’d been even at age sixteen since he was....sixteen. The first time he’d truly wriggled out of MI6’s grip.

Crawfisher’s fist caught his shoulder with a force that Alex could only compare to being glanced by a bus.

He recovered quickly, hiding his wince. Talon had hit him nearly as hard the week before and he’d still been able to spar with most of his usual range of motion for another twenty minutes before the inflammation locked his shoulder up.

He stepped back and circled, knowing his best bet was to slip away. But Crawfisher followed every backwards step. He seemed was not about to give up on the chance to teach Alex a lesson.

Alex went to his pockets, feeling blindly for something, anything to help him - pens, paperclips, explosives disguised as mints - all he found was the looped filament he’d taken from Jet’s door.

Struggling to coordinate with one nearly numb arm, Alex pulled the fishing line tight between his hands and leapt as high as he could towards Crawfisher.

His decision to act offensively threw the man for a moment, his eyes widening in interest.

It gave Alex the perfect opportunity to swing his arms over the man’s head and twist the makeshift garotte around Crawfisher’s throat.

Or at least it would have - had Crawfisher not caught him midleap, arms raised and belly vulnerable.

One hand clamped around his wrist and twisted, the other caught him in the stomach with a brutal sucker punch. 

Alex didn’t have a choice but to yield as Crawfisher agonisingly over-rotated his wrist and slammed him face down into the dead leaves.

“Ever been fish hooked?” Crawfish asked, knee pressed viciously into the small of Alex’s back. 

There was the quietest scrape and Alex knew it must be a knife, images of the man cleaning his filthy fingernails with a penknife coming to the forefront of his mind.

The curved pen knife came up into Alex’s periphery and he flinched instinctively, trying to hurl himself free.

Alex - Alex had a knife too, he recalled. Why was it that it slipped his mind most of the time? Alex had gotten too comfortable at Malagosto. 

That was pretty clear from the view he currently had of the rotting vegetation under him. Perhaps it was that the knife was too comfortable too. It fit the lines of his body too well, matched his temperature too. Perhaps it was just that the ceramic blade had registered with him as a beautiful gift rather than a live blade. 

A useless weapon. Just like Alex.

Not that it mattered right now.

Crawfish had at least thirty kilograms on Alex’s slight frame. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Crawfisher’s pen knife slipped between Alex’s lips and he blanked out momentarily in abject terror. 

He froze up entirely. The only thing he was aware of was the freezing cold blade prinking against the soft inside of his cheek. The metal tap-tapped against his teeth excruciatingly.

Where the blade caught his flesh, it didn’t hurt. Alex could feel it. It didn’t hurt. It was cutting him. All shallow nicks. Like a fish on a hook. It didn’t hurt. At least Crawfish didn’t want his eyes. 

It didn’t hurt, _but Alex was scared._


	9. Black Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex takes some damage and then some serious blows to the ego to boot.

Where the blade caught his flesh, it didn’t hurt. Alex could feel it. It didn’t hurt. It was cutting him. All shallow nicks. Like a fish on a hook. It didn’t hurt. At least Crawfish didn’t want his eyes. 

_It didn’t hurt, but Alex was frightened._

.  
.  
.

“Enough, Cash, you moron.”

Alex blinked slowly like he was waking from a daydream and lifted his eyes to see Jet standing a couple of metres away. 

Strangely, Jet had the collar of his turtleneck pulled over his mouth and nose. He also had something in his hand, raised as if he was about to toss it. It looked like a rubber ball. 

“I don’t want to draw blood on Malagosto,” Jet said hesitantly, slightly muffled by his makeshift mask. 

His dark eyes above it were locked on Crawfish. “But I’m willing to bet that you leaving another mark on him could get us all eviscerated.”

Crawfish snorted, but Alex felt the sharp press against the inside of his cheek slacken slightly. 

“What’s that you have there?” Crawfish said. “One of your little pepper spray pellets?”

“Yeah.” Jet said, pulling his arm back into a throwing position. “I’m not stupid enough to permanently blind the kid.”

“Oh, calm down, Poison Ivy.” Crawfish chuckled. “Those rumours are true then?”

Jet shrugged.

Alex hissed as Crawfish removed the knife from the inside of his cheek. His mouth immediately began to fill with blood. Alex swallowed it rapidly so we wouldn’t have to spit it out in front of Crawfish. He didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction.

“You getting something extra on the side for babysitting or something?” Crawfish leered. He dragged Alex up out of the dirt and pushed him towards Jet by way of a stinging smack on the arse. 

Alex stumbled into Jet’s legs on his hands and knees, furious and embarrassed. There was too much blood in his mouth to even send Crawfish a parting insult. 

Alex heard the snick of a knife being sheathed and Jet stood stock-still in silence for a few moments more, presumably as Crawfish took his leave. 

“Alright?” Jet said quietly. Alex felt a hand cautiously pat him on the top of his head. 

He was almost too embarrassed to answer. It was already humiliating enough that he had his face pressed against Jet’s jeans clad calf like a frightened puppy dog. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Alex clambered to his feet, wincing at how the words pulled at his mouth in a new and _wrong_ way.

Jet slipped his little ball into his pocket and pulled his collar back into place. “Shit,” he said, grimacing in sympathy as he assessed what Crawfish had done to Alex’s face. “That’s gotta sting.”

“It’s not so bad,” Alex said. He stamped down the urge to smile at his next thought. It hurt. “I already had a big mouth.” 

He pulled his light shirt gingerly over his head and applied it in a wad to his face. The bleeding was unlikely to slow any time soon, being a mouth injury. At least his shirt would mop up some of the mess and avoid unwanted attention.

“So, this is bad timing, but…” Jet made a face at Alex and jerked his head back towards the clearing they used for survival workshops.

“Pani Lena is waiting on us.”

“You’re kidding.” Alex muttered through his shirt.

Jet shook his head sadly.

Their tutor was waiting in the clearing. She looked them up and down, obviously noting that Alex was bleeding freely from the face. She said nothing about it.

“Apologies,” she said instead. “I needed to fetch the right ink to administer the black mark.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding,” Alex said again, under his breath.

“Your hand, please,” Pani Lena asked, gesturing for it reluctantly.

Alex offered her the palm that wasn’t pressing cloth to his face. His tutor carefully uncapped a fat flat-tipped marker. It genuinely looked like something out of a bingo hall. 

She pressed it to his palm briefly and released his hand back to him. “Done. It will wash away in a couple of months, so don’t do anything silly.”

Alex looked at his newly marked palm in irritation. “The black spot,” he sighed. “And I’m on an island. How literary.”

Jet leaned in to gawk at the mark in fascination. 

“Good evening,” Pani Lena said, turning to leave.

“Night, ma’am,” Alex said politely. He turned and wiped his face again, sighing as his shirt reached its saturation point.

“Let’s go back.”

Jet walked him double time back to their quarters after Alex refused point blank to visit the infirmary. 

“Come get me if you start bleeding out then, I guess?” Jet said, leaving him reluctantly at his door.

Alex waved him away, already halfway into his bathroom.

“I’ll grab you some mallow,” Jet said, finally. Alex heard him let the door snick shut. He sighed inwardly and tossed his bloodied shirt into the laundry basket.

What a mess. 

Alex grabbed the closest hand towel, wetting it and applying it carefully to his lips and cheek for a few seconds to stem the renewed blood flow before he assessed the damage in the mirror.

The corner of his mouth was just nicked open. There was some surface laceration to the soft tissue inside his mouth. No stitches required. The blood was all drama. 

He was going to be sporting a swollen lip and eating on the left side for a couple of days but it wasn’t much more than a couple of cuts.

Alex was due to meet Talon in an hour for their session, which he suspected would be another world of pain on its own even without having to endure her questions. 

Her idea of motherhenning was offering to give him another bruise to spread his focus across two injury sites. The pity was that it worked.

Talon would mind her own business. He’d just drop by the storeroom for liquid stitches and paracetamol on the way to dinner.

+++

“Where did you get that?” Talon said as soon as he walked into the dojo.

Alex sighed. He put his water and stained towel down. Even sipping at a thin soup had reopened the wound and stung too much to finish. “In class.”

“ _My_ class is for punching you.” Talon said, with a little too much insistence for Alex’s comfort. 

“I can handle it,” Alex said. “These guys are all the same.”

Talon lifted her eyebrows, eying the way he favoured one side of his mouth when he spoke. 

“I’ve dealt with guys like this before.” Alex could think of a few quite memorable occasions, in fact. 

Near the end of his time with MI6 he’d possibly started pushing the limits of fair play when it came to pranking people who irritated him. Was it surprising he’d ended up back here after all? 

“This is Malagosto,” Talon shrugged. “I suppose it will be dealt with soon enough.” 

She punted her water bottle to the side and swept Alex’s legs out from under him in the same movement. 

“How do you deal with opponents with a greater reach?”

Alex rolled out of range wearily. It was always the same, wasn’t it. “I should find a big stick.”

Talon laughed at that. “Yes!” Then she grabbed for him and caught him by the ankle with her long arm. “But also, stay away. Much further than you think you should.”

Oh, didn’t he know it, Alex thought bitterly.  
If only he’d booked Talon for Wednesday sessions.

“Use long range methods whenever possible,” Talon lectured. “You’re very little, Alex. You should try not to engage with these huge guys unless you are nose-to-nose. Then you can hurt them by surprise.” 

She grinned, imitating the kind of low gut punch that Alex couldn’t help but remember fondly administering a few times in his past.

“Little!” Alex muttered, more surprised than outraged.

Talon gestured to herself, very obviously head and shoulders taller than him. “I can’t hide very well, hm? So I hit first. You can hide, so hit later - or not at all.”

Alex could see the sense in that. He was a fan of working smart, not hard. 

He nodded his understanding at Talon, lifting his hand to indicate a water break. 

Then he absolutely belted her in the shoulder with his half full water bottle. He dove for cover under the tiered seating at the rear of the dojo.

Talon shrieked in outrage. She was after him in a second. “Insolent child!” she hissed through the seating slats, fishing for him with her long arms.

Alex was almost crying with laughter by the time she caught hold of his ankle and yanked him out. He slid easily along the polished floor, holding his hands up for mercy when she picked him up by the back of his shirt and shook him in faux rage.

She stopped suddenly and set him back down on his feet, her mood clearly deflated.

Alex realised with a sinking feeling in his belly that she’d seen his palm clearly.

“You have a black mark?” Talon said. 

“Yeah. It’s fine,” Alex said. He was still catching his breath.

“Do you understand what a black mark is?” 

Alex shrugged. “Failed the class, SCORPIA won’t hire me, blah blah blah.”

“That does not bother you?” Talon asked.

Alex just shook his head. There was nothing he could openly say to her that wouldn’t compromise his past. 

Talon stepped back and circled him a couple of times, face creased slightly with deep thought. 

“You should take care,” she said after a few moments. 

“People will talk. It sounds very odd that someone would come to Malagosto with no intention of working for SCORPIA in the future.” 

Alex followed her movements out of the corner of his eye.

“It is nothing much to me,” Talon said slowly, “but you must remember there are brokers here. They sell information when they visit the mainland.”

Alex turned on the spot, tracking her soft footfalls. 

“Information about a beautiful boy with straw hair who is allowed to do anything he wants on Malagosto Island.”

“Don’t,” Alex said, reflexively. His throat closed up on him. 

Talon shook her head and continued, speaking carefully. “He is a student, but none of the others recognise him. He can fight, but cannot kill. The assassin Gregorovich calls him by name and grants him generous gifts and favours.”

“Talon,” Alex said, warning.

“You can see how it would interest these people,” Talon said, fluttering her long nails in the air.

“You are clearly not his son or another relative. People aren’t blind.”

“It’s not -“ Alex stopped, unable to complete the sentence.

Talon shot him a glance. “I don’t sell information, but you should assume I might,” she said. 

Alex nodded jerkily. He folded his fingers into a tight fist at his side. Gloves may be in order.

That was all that Talon said on the subject. She sank back into a fighting stance and looked at him expectantly until he rolled his eyes and aimed a kick at her knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry these chapters are coming so sporadically. Much like everyone else, I’m not doing super great in the end times.


	10. Too Many Varients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Jet hit the lab for a bit of science.

Alex liked to move fast but even he had to admit that his wounds could do with a good night’s sleep if only to let the plasma settle and kickstart the healing process.

Jet had left mallow on his doorstep as promised. Alex shrugged and decided to give it a go. 

He boiled the kettle and found a shallow ceramic bowl in a cabinet. It was weird to essentially make tea in a bowl with leaves. Like some kind of half-hearted campfire cooking. 

The sodden mallow was slimy by the time it cooled down. Alex stuffed it gingerly into his cheek and held the slimy leaves in place with his tongue while he showered and got ready for bed.

Alex pulled them out of his mouth before getting into bed, reluctant to spit in case it started the bleeding again. His mouth did feel a little better. Whether it was the mallow or the ordinary healing process, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem to have caused any further damage.

Alex told Jet as much the next day, skipping both his morning run and breakfast to avoid jostling the healing cuts.

Friday was a holy day for many on Malagosto Island, so in the absence of classes they spent most of the day shut away in Alnwick’s computer lab.

It was less of a computer lab, really, Alex thought, and more of a laboratory with computers. 

Alnwick had set it up for genetic modification work. As students they’d barely ventured more than a few steps inside while Jet waxed lyrical on his mentor’s engineering breakthroughs on grass variants.

It was well beyond what Malagosto could teach - they’d need to pick up a couple of science degrees before the lab would do most of them any good. Easier to just hire a specialist like Alnwick for this level of precision. 

Alex couldn’t even begin to guess how much money he was elbow to elbow with when he shunted a machine two inches to the left to make room to sketch out his second trap blueprint.

“How’s the face?” Jet whispered, overcautious, as he always was in the lab. Alnwick wasn’t even on the island today. 

Alex licked the inside of his cheek carefully to check. “It’s okay,” he decided. The wound tasted a little sweet in the way ulcers often did. It had a bitter edge, thanks to the liquid stitches he had reapplied after waking up.

Jet nodded, tiptoeing around the bench to boot the massive computer reserved expressly for genetic analysis.

He sighed heavily when he saw that the last dataset was still open in the module. “He needs to save these properly,” Jet muttered.

Alex smiled at his grumbles, sketching a quick outline onto his paper. He’d devised an overpowered deadfall trap which wouldn’t take long to prepare and set up. It wasn’t worth much more effort when it seemed likely his assessment wouldn’t matter much thanks to the black mark on his record. 

“Oh, for fucks sake. Alex?”

Alex got up and followed Jet’s voice to where he was wrapped around the back of a massive machine. It looked like some kind of oversized microwave.

“You alright?”

Jet unfolded his long body with a wince. “Alnwick’s gone and jammed the tongs under the analyser again. You have smaller hands than me, can you grab them?”

Alex crouched. It was easy enough to spot the battered tool under the machine. He slid his arm underneath nearly to the shoulder before he felt the cold touch of metal. He fished the tongs out and bestowed them upon Jet.

“Thank you,” Jet said solemnly. 

He had Alex step aside and opened the front of the device - just like it was a microwave. 

Jet slid the tongs inside and used them to gingerly remove a tray of samples. There were at least thirty tiny test tubes rattling around in the tray, tinkling against each other and swirling their contents around.

“Ridiculous,” Jet muttered. “He always runs too many variants at once. No one can keep track of this much shit.” 

Jet carried the tray over to a wheeled rack resting against the wall and slid it into an empty slot.

“He doesn’t even label his samples,” Jet sighed. 

He put the tongs on top of the analyser, precariously close to falling down the back. Alex could see why they kept losing their tools under the machines.

Jet grabbed a sharpie and scrawled a label, copying from the computer screen with each letter or digit. He then painstakingly applied the adhesive to the sample tray.

GRASSES #ALNWK936348UK

“Done.” Jet said. “And now I can use the bloody analyser for once.”

“Oh?” Alex said, curious. 

“Not sure you noticed,” Jet said, stroking his goatee modestly, “I quite like plants.”

Alex grinned. “I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.” Jet laughed, unable to keep up the joke. “I actually have a couple of plants I want to know more about.”

Jet pulled a couple of ziplock bags out of his pockets. They were filled with leaves. Some were dry, some fresh looking, and some cuttings were stems or grass rather than fully formed leaves.

“What’s so special about these plants?” Alex asked, picking up his pencil and tapping it absently against his chin.

“Nothing I can tell yet,” Jet admitted. “They look pretty normal to me.”

“Mm hmm,” Alex said, knowing that Jet couldn’t resist a dramatic reveal.

“What is odd...is that they shouldn’t be here!” 

Jet tossed the bags of cuttings onto the preparation table with aplomb.

Alex was unconvinced. “Sure, but people grow exotic plants in other countries all the time. Orchids. Roses. I don’t know, other plants.”

“You’re right,” Jet said graciously. “But not these plants. They’re...pretty lame plants, even by my standards.”

“Sorry,” Jet said to the leaves. 

“Lame plants.” Alex repeated, biting down on a smile.

“They’re just weeds and grasses. Not even pretty ones.” Jet explained. “I don’t know. It was just weird to me when I saw them out in the dunes.”

“The dunes.” Alex said, casting his mind back. “I do remember - I almost ran you down when you were squinting at some grass.”

Jet shot him some finger guns. “Correct!” 

He picked up a ziplock bag full of grass cuttings and shook it at Alex. 

“Here we have the main offender.” 

Jet popped open the bag and pulled on some gloves and plastic protective googles. He started filling an array of tiny test tubes with grass clippings.

He then topped each tube off with some kind of fluid and transported the tray to the analyser.

“This is my favourite part,” Jet shouted from around the corner. Alex heard him shut the machine door firmly and the tongs clatter carelessly against metal.

“Waiting is your favourite part?” Alex grinned as he came around the corner.

Jet dropped onto a stool next to him and started stripping off his gloves. 

“Yes!” Jet agreed. “It’s the anticipation.”

Alex snorted and went back to sketching while they waited. 

Jet wandered around the lab, peering into things and Alex had to think - was this what he’d looked like when he was searching for intelligence? It was completely obnoxious. 

The computer trilled and Jet practically spun on his heel to attend to it.

“Huh,” was all he said, clicking rapidly.

“Yes?” Alex said after giving him a few moments to elaborate.

“Honestly, I have no idea what I’m looking at,” Jet admitted.

Alex got up to look as well but predictably, it was all infinitesimal numbers in boxes to him.

“I mean...you wouldn’t know but basically...looks like grass.” Jet said.

Alex shrugged and sat back down. “Grass in the wrong place.”

“Yes,” Jet said slowly. He frowned and clicked back through. “I might be missing something...Maybe I need a different test.”

Alex picked up his pencil to do some labeling but caught sight of something in his peripheral vision.

At first he did a double take - Jet was somehow both bent over his computer screen - and standing in the doorway. 

He realised with a jolt that it was Alnwick. The man was also tall, muscular, and dark haired like Jet. His beard was a little less cultivated today, Alex noted. Maybe he was stressed.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Alnwick snarled, letting his messenger bag drop to the stone floor. He strode towards Alex, furious.

Alex instinctively hopped backwards before he thought better of it. He caught himself and straightened his back instead, setting his shoulders back to center himself. 

“Homework,” he said, holding up his pencil sketch innocently.

“Alnwick!” Jet said, slipping around the corner, goggles still on. “I thought you were away on an errand?”

On an errand, Alex surmised, was code for on whatever SCORPIA called missions. 

Alnwick’s hackles came down when he saw Jet was in the lab. As long as Alex wasn’t snooping alone, he didn’t look quite as suspicious. Not that Alex had been snooping.

“Sorry if I gave you a fright, sir,” Alex said. He rolled his paper up. “I’ll go, if you like.”

“No, no,” Alnwick said absently, his anger already forgotten. He was already following Jet around to the machines he’d been using.

“What’s this you’ve gotten into,” he muttered, clicking through Jet’s data. Jet hovered beside him, clearly eager to share with his mentor. 

Alnwick paused for a long moment on one screen before clicking out. He headed over to the unit that held the samples Jet had painstakingly prepared.

“You forgot to save the dataset again,” Jet cried out, desperately clicking back through the screens. “You have to use the Save Set function Aln-”

“Junk data,” Alnwick declared. 

He had the tongs and he was extracting Jet’s sample tray from the analyser.

“What are you doing?” Jet asked, confused.

Alnwick carried the tray over to the nearest sink.

Alex had to hold back a cry of shock as the man tipped the entire tray into the stainless steel basin with a tremendous smash.

Half of the tiny test tubes shattered. Fluids and cuttings pooled together in a useless mess of glass shards.

“What are you doing!” Jet yelped again, dashing over to the sink as Alnwick stepped aside.

Alnwick slammed the analyser door shut and carelessly tossed the tongs on top. They slid over the shiny steel and went down the back of the machine. Alex certainly wouldn’t be fishing them out again. 

“Wasting my time,” Alnwick growled. “Now you can start on the new samples.”

“Well, I’ll have to clean this up first,” Jet said, exasperated. He opened the cabinet under the sink and tugged out a tangle of gloves.

“I’ll head out,” Alex said awkwardly. “See you at dinner?”

“I’ll be lucky,” Jet muttered. 

Alnwick didn’t even acknowledge either of them had said anything. He’d set the bag he’d carried in with him on the bench and dropped a tray alongside for Jet to get started on.

Alex shrugged and left, pocketing his HB pencil. He got the feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Jet until Monday.

+++

It was in fact Tuesday when Alex next saw Jet, and the man looked tired.

“Finished with the analyser?”

Jet huffed. “I’ll never be done.”

“Then you must be excited for punishment of a different kind,” Alex grinned. “Aren’t you building my trap today?”

Jet drooped visibly, only straightening up when Pani Lena entered the clearing.

The hair haired woman stood pointedly quiet until everyone had noticed her presence.

“I’ve been informed that the work some of you submitted last week was not your own.” Pani Lena started.

“Dishonesty wouldn’t usually be of any concern to myself - or most of your prospective employers,” she went on, dryly. 

“However, in this case, violence was a result. I have been persuaded to remind you that Malagosto has zero tolerance for fighting on the island. If you’d like to settle a disagreement, I urge you to arrange transport to the mainland post-haste.” 

Alex had to smile at his trainers at her words. He wondered why she’d waited til this week to bring up the fight she’d certainly known about since Thursday. 

“Unfortunately, I am bound by the rules to award another black mark.” Pani Lena pulled the marker out of her pocket with a weak flourish. 

Alex’s eyes widened. Another black mark - perhaps she’d caught on to Crawfisher’s deception -

“Jet. Your hand.”

Alex’s mouth dropped open. Beside him, Jet went whiter than the crisp collar of his polo shirt.

“No.” Alex said, jogging ahead to block Jet, who was staggering forward like a man going to the gallows.

“Alex, step aside,” Pani Lena said, fixing him with a critical gaze. She didn’t look angry at him, at all. Slightly exasperated, maybe.

“He didn’t do - anything,” Alex hissed, fingers itching to do something. 

He could pluck the pen from her hold or slap her hand aside. 

He could tell the whole group about how he suspected Crawfisher had stolen Jet’s (his) blueprints, he could expose how soundly the man had beaten him into the undergrowth.

Alex couldn’t. Simply put, the truth didn’t matter.

Jet stuck his hand out. It was shaking noticeably. Their teacher flipped it over and administered the inky spot as if it were nothing.

“I hope you’ve all brought any necessary materials,” she said, turning to the rest of the group. 

Jet stumbled back to the bundle of sticks Alex had helped prepare for the body bind trap. He sat down in the dust and picked up a sheaf of flax almost blindly. 

“We should get started,” he said to Alex, smiling weakly. 

Alex clenched his jaw and sat down cross-legged next to his friend. “Right. You keep weaving, and I’ll start whittling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live, regardless.


	11. Favour Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex asks a simple favour & the island receives mysterious visitors.

“Back so soon?” Yassen said. 

He opened the door wider, indicating that Alex should come in.

Alex obliged, crossed his arms across his chest as he took to his usual spot in the centre of the office. “It’s not like I’m in here every day.”

Yassen closed the door, nearly smiling as he turned back to Alex. Then his eyes narrowed. 

“What’s this,” he said, stepping close enough to slip his hand under Alex’s chin. He tilted Alex’s face into the late afternoon light, examining the dull bruise that radiated outwards from the corner of his mouth. 

Yassen tested the tender flesh with the side of his thumb, frowning when Alex winced. 

Alex tried to step out of reach but Yassen was not a fool. He locked his hand around Alex’s bicep to hold him in place. 

“I don’t expect you to tell me who it was,” Yassen said, inspecting the wound with a more careful touch. 

“But you know I don’t tolerate in-fighting here. Bad for business.”

Alex scowled, turning his face as far as he could under Yassen’s grip. “I’m not here about a fight.”

“So there was a fight,” Yassen said. 

He let Alex wrench free and stepped back to lean against his desk as he often did when Alex visited. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Alex insisted. 

Yassen inclined his head.

“I’m working on survival skills with - an acquaintance.” Alex said, uncertain how to describe Jet. 

He supposed they were friends, in a way. It didn’t seem like a good idea to quantify their relationship in that way. 

There were no friends among spies and any friends Alex had ever managed to make… Too many of them were dead. No new friends.

“Some stuff happened,” Alex summed it up, “and the instructor issued me a black mark.”

“I am aware.” Yassen said with faint amusement. “You want this rescinded?”

“No,” Alex interrupted. “I don’t care about getting a mark. I want my acquaintance’s black mark… reconsidered.”

Yassen nodded, looking down at his watch for a moment as he seemed to think about the request. 

“Please,” Alex added, through gritted teeth. 

Yassen’s lips quirked at that. “Very well.” He stood and walked around his desk to sit in his chair. 

“This is your second favour, Alex.”

Yassen rested his hands on the desk, rolling his wrists and flexing his fingers like he was about to play a scale on a piano. 

“I know.”

“What will you trade?” Yassen asked after a beat.

Alex stared at the man’s splayed hands, pale against the dark wooden surface. They were scarred but elegant. They conveyed more expression than the assassin’s face. 

“I have counterfeits,” Alex said hopelessly.

“As do I,” Yassen said. One long finger tapped the desk. 

Alex watched it, absently chewing his lip until he pulled at his still healing cut and winced.

“Today, I will let you pay with a kiss.” Yassen said it almost kindly, as if he was doing him a favour.

“And I’ll take care of it all.” Yassen’s hand turned over in an open gesture that he held out to Alex. 

Alex screwed up his eyes momentarily and breathed in deeply.

Walking into the office had sealed the deal before he’d even opened his mouth. He accepted that.

Alex couldn’t even manage a nod of acknowledgement. He just went to the assassin, walking on leaden legs around the desk and waiting as Yassen turned his chair to accommodate him between splayed knees.

Alex stared down at the man’s denim clad legs, automatically keying in on the subtle bulge in his right pant leg. He was shaking only slightly. 

Yassen reached out with his open hand and cupped Alex’s face in his palm. His thumb ran over Alex’s cheek, slowly, pressing into the soft skin with the edge of his thumbnail as he got closer to the bruising around his mouth.

He drew Alex down by the chin, kissing him firmly. He gathered Alex into his lap silently, letting him settle naturally astride him.

Alex found himself with his forehead pressed into Yassen’s shoulder. His hips jerked instinctively as he was pressed down against Yassen’s firm thigh.

The assassin hummed a little. He wrapped his hands around Alex’s waist, pulling the soft white shirt from its neat tuck into his pants. It was one that had arrived with Alex’s belongings, a gift. 

Several hundred Euros of premium quality cotton and Alex had thrown it on to play in the woods. 

This was the careless behaviour of the same boy who had fearlessly thrown biological weapons, grenades, and sharp words his way over the years. The boy was so sharp that striking him with a flint would probably light a fire. 

Yassen appreciated that this knife of a boy had to be handled with care. God knew how many people Alex had cut over the years with his incisive tongue alone.

Alex breathed out shakily as the fabric went slack, shuddering as the chill hit his bare back. 

“This- this isn’t a kiss,” Alex finally managed.

Yassen grazed his hands across Alex’s skin, warming it, travelling as high as his shoulder blades, which he lingered over, running his fingers along the sharp planes. Alex was abundantly fit, if too bony for true health.

“Oh?” Yassen replied absently. “So sorry. I will make it right.”

Leaving one hand splaying heat across his back, he lifted Alex’s chin and bit gently at his mouth. Alex squirmed in place and reluctantly opened, allowing a lazily wet kiss that Yassen discreetly ground against him throughout.

Something beeped discreetly, and Yassen pulled away to check the display of his smartphone. 

His face tightened and he looked up at Alex with his usual icy countenance.

“Go back to your quarters and stay there until Ms. Gunn fetches you for dinner.”

Alex lifted his eyebrows in confusion, but he slipped out of Yassen’s lap and headed for the door without question. 

He’d only just shut the door behind him when he heard footfalls in the far corridor. 

He looked around for some discreet spot to duck into. Evidently Yassen hadn’t wanted Alex to see his visitors or – possibly more likely – he hadn’t wanted his visitors to catch sight of Alex. 

The footfalls got closer, and Alex ducked into the currently dark kitchen, jamming himself into the crevice between the industrial stove and dishwasher. 

There were three men, Alex guessed, though he couldn’t see anything of them except that they appeared to be in crisp linen suits.

If Alex had to hazard a guess, he’d have said that they were SCORPIA executives.

They walked straight into Yassen’s office without the courtesy of a knock. 

Alex understood why Yassen had been so quick to react to the emergency signal. He wondered for a moment who had raised the alarm. Most likely the ever attentive Ms. Gunn, he rationalised with a roll of his eyes.

It probably wasn’t the done thing to get caught making out with students in the middle of the day, SCORPIA or not.

Alex ran momentarily hot with embarrassment, straightening his untucked shirt, silently thankful that it hid the front of his pants.

He heard Yassen greet the trio warmly, if a little terse in his choice of welcoming words.

“Kind of you to visit. What do you want?”

The door clicked shut quietly.

Alex scrambled out of his hidey hole, silently cursing as he lost a couple of buttons in his rush. Sure, he hadn’t paid for it, but it had been a nice shirt all the same.

He crept around the corner and pressed an ear to the solid office door. 

He could only make out snatches of conversation through the steel reinforced wood.

“…heard you’d…Rider boy….”

“That’s none of your…..”

There was a thump behind him and Alex leapt a foot into the air. 

He was relieved to find Ms Gunn had returned to her desk and was reorganising her paperwork a little louder than required.

A cup of pens tipped over and they rolled to the floor. 

Alex automatically stooped to collect them for her, setting them back in the cup.

“Your face-” she mouthed silently in surprise, nearly reaching out to touch the green and purple bruising. Alex shied away - it did actually hurt now, thanks to Yassen taking liberties. 

The corner of his lip had split again, just a little raw this time, not to the point of bleeding freely. It was too tempting now not to test the sweet new flesh with the top of his tongue from time to time.

“Oh- you smell like him,” Ms Gunn stepped back respectfully but raised her eyebrows in interest.

Alex blushed, to his consternation, trying to resist surreptitiously sniffing his collar.

“I have an phenomenal sense of smell, if that makes you feel better.” Ms Gunn grinned. 

“I’ll just…” he stammered, cocking his thumb in the direction of the outside quarters.

“Gunpowder and aftershave balm,” she added unhelpful, and Alex absolutely heard her chuckling to herself as he jogged down the hall.

+++

Just as Yassen had said, Ms. Gunn knocked on his door at quarter to seven. Alex exited the Playstation 4 game he’d been playing, and went to answer the door. He was pleasantly surprised by the fact that the personal assistant didn’t just let herself in with her master key code.

Ms. Gunn was standing on the other side, phone in one hand as usual, the other twisting nervously in her loose hair. 

“Alex,” she smiled warmly, “Yassen asked me to fetch you for dinner. If you wanted to, I mean. You’re under no obligation.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at that, waving her into the room in front of him. “Sure. I’m getting kind of hungry.” His stomach assured them that this was true. 

“Just let me turn off the game.” He gestured to the electronics that lined the wall, and stooped to eject the game he’d been playing.

Ms. Gunn watched him. “I could have the new Playstation 5 installed, if you like,” she offered. 

Alex eyed her shifting from foot to foot at the edge of his peripheral vision. “Uh, no thanks. I still have plenty of games to get through.”

Ms. Gunn nodded quickly and went back to curling her hair around one hand as Alex neatly coiled the cords he’d trailed across the room. 

“I could whip you up some dinner here,” she tried again, gripping a tendril of hair tightly enough that Alex wondered if she might pull some of it out. 

Ms Gunn was usually laid back and eager to please, but the offers she was making him now felt an awful lot like she was trying her hardest to confine Alex to his quarters for the evening. 

That, coupled with what Alex had heard at Yassen’s door that afternoon could only add up to one conclusion: suspicious activities. 

“No need to bother yourself,” Alex said, pulling on a dark grey sweater over his white t-shirt. He slipped his ASICs on and held the door open for Ms Gunn.

“We don’t want to be late.”

+++

Alex made sure to politely hold the mess door open for Ms Gunn to enter first as well.

Alex caught her immediately locking eyes with Yassen across the room as he pulled the door closed.

The mess was as busy as it ever was, but the presence of a small table of four smartly dressed executives had the whole room on their best behaviour. 

Thinking of Ms Gunn’s reluctance to bring him to dinner, Alex split from her immediately, as if they’d simply bumped into each other at the door.

Alex took the long way around the tables to pick up a plate of curry and set it down in a free seat beside Talon. 

Jet was lurking a little further down the table, shoulders around his ears and head downcast. He was diligently applying his knife and fork to his meal, knuckles white around the silverware.

He was hiding his mark, Alex realised, reflexively closing his own fists. 

Alex collected a couple of glasses of still water. He dropped one off beside Jet’s plate.

“Don’t worry, I’ve sorted it out.” Alex said, when Jet glanced up in surprise. 

Jet opened his mouth but clearly thought better of it, eyes darting behind Alex to the table across the room.

Alex took his seat next to Talon. She nodded at him in thanks for the glass of water. 

Talon had finished her meal, but as usual, she was taking the opportunity to listen in to conversations as she digested.

Ms Gunn had found a spot halfway across the room, placed perfectly in a direct interruption of Alex’s sightline with the table of executives.

It couldn’t be an accident.

On the bright side, the rogan josh was excellent, despite there being no conversation to accompany it. Chewing silently did give Alex time to think.

+++

They’d been fools to have left these trees standing so close to their fence.

Even as Alex clambered up onto a bough in the dark he could barely believe it. 

It was a cloudy night, but Alex had no trouble navigating in the dark once he’d left the SCORPIA encampment. 

There were floodlights on the old tower, but they were all fixed in the sea-facing side of the building, keeping watch over the dark water.

Teetering in the upper crown of the tree, Alex was beyond pleased to find that the sister tree on the other side of the fence had grown to meet his perch. Grinning, he took hold of a fistful of whip-thin branches and leapt the razorwire. 

The green wood groaned. There was a quiet cacophony of snapping twigs and leaves tearing loose. Alex’s makeshift vine held and slowed him as he plummeted towards the ground. Alex dropped softly to his toes like a cat. 

He patted his gloved hands together gingerly. The kevlar infused fabric was as good as new, if perhaps a little damp from fresh tree sap.

The tree had returned to its proud height. The spotlights remained on the other side of the crumbling building.

The dark maw of the tower arch awaited him. Alex grinned and started picking his way among the shadows with relish.


End file.
